How long has it been since I have resorted to this, this outlet of my feelings and enduring, enduring my pain and my angst, angst in words that I cannot put into word in my mouth, mouth that can’t spit words, words are left on paper on parchment on sands.
You told me how it hurt you, but I feel like the blade went both ways, slicing through and narrowly missing your heart, but it pierced mine whole.
I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and I didn’t mean to hurt you. I always was careful, that even if I hurt anyone it would be myself and myself only, because of all the people I am capable of loving I cannot love myself more. And it hurt, it wasn’t hurting so bad 5 hours ago, but now the wound is puckering in the cool air, the flesh inside stings and bulges with pain, with the over-sensitive skin exposed in the harsh winter air. It makes me die a little more inside, to know that you are not capable of loving me, just like me, you are capable of loving anything else but me.
3pm in the afternoon, one should feel warm and comfortable in their own bodies, but I shiver and feel the heat leave me, just like you did at 3am.