It hurts to cry.

They say it's okay to cry, but when it pains you so much, that you feel as though someone has just shot you, it's not okay to cry. You don't even know when you're going to cry, and that's the sad thing. It's just a sudden feeling that comes over you. Overtakes everything. All you can do is sit and wait for it pass. And it does pass, but just for the moment. Not for good. Those tears that feel as though they are made from acid are always hidden, just waiting for the right second to spring free. They burn your skin and eyes like crazy. They make you feel weak. Those tears are made of all your bitterness and hurt, and there's so much of it, it burns even you.

The ache never goes away.

There's always that spot in your heart that you're always painfully aware of. Just below your left breast. It's not empty. God, how nice it would be if that part of your heart was empty. How nice it would be if you were empty. But no, you still feel, and that part of your heart aches. And do you know why it aches? Of course you don't. You haven't been hurt like this. It aches because that's the part of your heart that you gave to them. The person that made you like this. The bitter, evil harpy that everyone is afraid to come near. You don't resent his happiness. Not really. It's hard to understand, because he's turned that love in your heart to bitter poison. His happiness kills you on the inside, but you don't think it's his fault. Of course you don't. You know it's yours.

It's easier to hide it.

It may not be the best thing for you, but it's always easier to hide what your feelings. Put on that fake smile, the one that Barbie always wears, take a deep breath, and just do it. It's like ripping off a band-aid. Do it quickly, and it will be over before you know it. That way you can get back to your room faster, before those acid tears come. Before you see them. Before they see you. Your room becomes your safe haven. The only place no one dares disturb. You can no longer see the floor, but that's all right. Your room isn't on display, and you haven't managed to lose yourself in it yet. There are marks on your wall that match your fist. It's the only way to release the sudden anger you always feel. Hey, at least your not cutting yourself.

Always keep it locked up inside.

You can never let your emotions get out of hand. Not when other people are around. You must always keep your guard up. Never let them see your true face. You're just looking to belong, and if you put your guard down, you can admit to anything. People knowing isn't a good thing. Then they ask. Either way, people usually ask how you are. You always answer with 'fine' because you are fine. You're okay enough to sleep at night, at least for a couple of hours. You're okay enough to smile and eat with your family. You're okay enough to bluff your way through school. You're okay enough to even fool him. Make him think that you're 'fine.'

You can't fool everyone.

You can't always get away with it. Sooner or later someone will realize that you're not fine. That something is the matter. And it won't be your Mom. It won't be Dad. It might not even be your brother. It definitely won't be a friend. Or a teacher. It will be you. Someday you will look in the mirror, and see what you've become. You won't like it, but you can't change it. That hurt, that ache, those hidden acid tears, will still be there. Sometimes you even find yourself relaxing, but you can't forget that ache. You can't forget that you have put a barbed wire fence around your heart, and that no one even dares get close.

You need a distraction.

You need something that will carry you away from everyday life. Something that will let you forget completely, even if it is just for an instant. Physical activity is recommended, it keeps you focused on what your body needs to be doing, instead of what you would be doing if you were still his. Mindless tasks do not work. Homework doesn't work because then you find yourself doodling his name in the margin or writing a suicide note on the next piece of looseleaf in your binder. But you'd never actually commit suicide. You always appeared strong enough to get through this life without him. Who knows, you might actually be strong enough, but by dying at your own hands, you proved that you were weak, and not worth him. Not worth yourself.

There will always be that one person.

Not the person that hurt you that destroyed you like this, even though you'll still feel his touch decades after forever. No, there will always be that person that you want to tell. That you want to know all of your secrets all of your heartache, but you can't tell them. You cannot bother them with how mature you've become, even though you are, in age, a child. Because as much of a child as you should be, as carefree as you still should be, they are younger. Still innocent to the pain that you harbor in your bitter, black heart. Maybe they'll never feel that type of pain, maybe they'll never be hurt this bad. And that's all you can hope for, because you wouldn't wish these acid tears on your worst enemy. But you will never hurt their childhood. You will still laugh with them, and have those good memories killing each other on a video game. And you will lie when the look you in the eyes and say, 'I know something's wrong.' You will say, 'It's just a girl problem,' and they will gently back off, because everyone knows what that means.

You even lie to yourself.

You tell yourself that forever can't last that long. Because he did promise you forever. You tell yourself that tomorrow you will wake up, see the sun, and smile for what feels like the first time in your life. You will not dread the morning, when, in a time long gone, he would already be sitting at your kitchen table, a piece of toast and a jar of jam in front of him. You will not stay up late into the night, avoiding sleep, afraid of the dreams that will haunt you. Sometimes the dreams are nothing in particular, like your brother. But sometimes he will be there, smiling at you. Sometimes he will reach for your hand, and you'll reach for it too. Then, another hand arrives in his before your own. You look over and see that it's her, and he's smiling at her, like he doesn't even know you're there. Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe you've become that invisible. Maybe you never had that his heart in the first place. Forever does last that long.

She'll notice you first.

It won't be him that sees you first. It will be her - his new forever. She'll raise her hand in greeting, and you'll do the same. She'll drag him over to where you're standing, and that's when he'll notice you for the first time that evening, and probably the last. You wouldn't put up with it, except that before she stole him, she was your best friend, your confident, the only person who would ever understand you. But she doesn't understand. Maybe she did once, because she is a year older than you, and closer to his age, and she'd already experienced your old problems. But she won't experience this one, because he will never leave her. She is his sun, his reason for getting up in the morning. And it kills you to know that you were once that reason. He holds her hand like it's the only thing that's keeping him from floating away.

The past tense will bother you every time.

You will hear it everywhere. You can't escape it. Hell, sometimes it even comes from your own mouth, 'he used too' or 'he was.' Truth is, he says it all the time. Even he can't escape it. It doesn't mean that he still cares, like you once thought. No, he only talks about you because you are a funny person. No, you were a funny person. You used to laugh. You used to sing. You used to be a wonderful singer. Maybe you still are, but you would no longer sing the love songs. You would sing the dark songs, the songs of cheaters, liars. The songs sung about the bastard that destroyed your world. The love songs bother you. That's why you don't listen to the radio anymore. Why all your CD's are covered in dust. Why, when you lost your T.V. remote, you didn't look for it, even though it would have been a global disaster once. You hate that every time you turn around, someone is getting their happy ending.

Time doesn't heal everything.

You used to tell yourself that, but that was a million years ago. You realized that it doesn't. Over time the ache in your heart still festers, and you find that you are still holding back your acid tears. You hear your friend's, the ones that still talk to you, anyway, when they say that he was never worth your time. And that he was not good enough for you. Because you're beautiful, you're special. You're going to be someone someday, and he'll look at you, then at her, and realize he made a mistake. And you just nod. You don't bother to argue, even though you know that they're wrong. He was worth your time, every second of it. He was too good for you, you're the one that didn't deserve him. You're not beautiful, you're not special, she is. That's why she has him. Maybe you will be someone someday, but that's not going to change anything. He doesn't look at you now, so why would he look at you then? He'll still be looking at her, and you know that no mistake has been made. He's got his happily ever after, and your watching your knight in shining amour carry off his princess. When you see them, and you feel that ache in your chest and those acid tears beginning, you think that it would be easier if he'd just murdered you instead of letting you live like this.

Time doesn't heal everything, and sometimes, it doesn't even ease the pain.

© Double I 4 My Guyz