Author: dress her up in fairytales PM
as if i could forget (the bleeding).Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Tragedy - Words: 614 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 1 - Published: 08-29-06 - id: 2238757
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
i remember when we thought dressing in black was "cool"
because we wanted (desperately) to be different. i remember
how we dressed in black just to prove something to the world
around us (like we hated the way we were back then). and i
remember the nights we spent, staying awake past midnight
because it was the "cool" thing to do and we just couldn't sleep
anyways. i remember how we (you, me, and her) pitched a tent
in your backyard, told stories, and jokes but when it became
night, she was too afraid to go to sleep so we gathered our
blankets and pillows and found our way back inside and
slept on the floor in your living room, next to the back door.
i remember how we thought we could never be the way we
are now because back then, it was simple to fix a broken
friendship (thanks to a high school football game and the
way you brought up memories from the past). i remember
the christmas party you had and when we exchanged gifts
(i thought of it to be one of the happiest moments of my life)
and how we were allowed to "steal" a gift if we liked it more.
but i remember when your name left my tongue, hanging
in the air, due to me admitting that you had changed. i
remember when i first brought the blade (of a blue, plastic,
disposable razor) to my skin and pressed hard (enough to
release blood). i remember how i tried to hide those (feeble)
scars with bandages, only to be asked what happened and
why. i remember the look on your face when you saw the
scars, asked "what happened?" and only received a shrug
in reply. i remember when i showed you my scars and told
you that i was challenged to tell my brother what i was doing
and you told me to have strength and that it wouldn't be a
problem (but he never knew until months later) and the note
you wrote to me found its way into the trash bin quicker than
i read it and quicker than the way you slipped it into my hands.
and i remember how i found myself broken and alone in the
bathroom, scraping cuts across my wrists and arms because
i couldn't feel (anything anymore) because it took me so long
to realize that i let you effect me in such a way. and the letters
i wrote to you came from the heart but you (obviously) couldn't
think of anything to say to me so you ignored me, thinking that
i(t) would become nothing (oh, what a lie you told yourself).
i also remember the way my heart broke (and bled) when i saw
you again after more than a year (of suffering and it hurt worse
than drawing on my skin). i could paint my sins on the ceiling
(with my own blood) for everyone to see but you would look
at it, pretend that it's nothing, mumbling, "oh, what a shame."
author's note: this was definitely not meant to be this long. it was actually longer but i cut out a stanza or so. other than that, this is unedited. i call this a rant but you may call it something else. this was loosely inspired while i was listening to linkin park. oh, a disclaimer, the line in the last stanza that goes, "i could paint my sins on the ceiling" is based on a line in the taking back sunday song, set phasers to stun, "we paint our sins on the ceiling."