"No, No" I screamed, my hands grasping at his shirt.
"Don't you think I understand! I know, I know what its like!." I stare at my hands as they grip tightly at his shirt as if to tear it apart.
"No, talking about it won't make it go away. It won't change it. It can never change it. The past is just that, the past. But talking will make things better. Not the actions, but the feelings. Right now, now its like this giant gaping wound. It festers, it bleeds, it weakens you. Talking about it, sharing, it helps lessen that. The feelings never go away, never. But talking lets them not consume you. It helps close it. Yes you will always feel the pain, it will always hurt. If you leave it be the wound will bleed you dry. You'll go numb, and die. But talking, sharing, feeling, it will make the wound a scar. You'll always have it, remember it, know it. But, the difference is, a scar can't kill you, but a wound will"
Gasping I lean into his warmth, my head resting on his chest. "Scars will ache, but wounds will kill." Looking up I search his face in hope that somehow, somehow something of what I've said had gotten through. "Don't you understand? Don't you see? Killing yourself will not bring them back. Killing yourself will not save them."