My Self

Never in the sixteen years that I exsisted, did I allow myself to be the first one to say, “I love you”. It could have been my lack of self-esteem, or my theory that the whole world hates me. It could have been a number of different things, but in his case, it was different. I'm sure it was for nothing other than the fact that he himself was what was different. He was so unlike any boy I had ever met, that I had ever had feelings for. With him, it was so much more than anything I've ever felt. He made my world rotate, my heart pound so rapidly it seemed as if the world would hear it. He made me smile, happy, he gave me the butterflies. I saw so much in him, still see so much in him. I know, without even the slightest doubt, that he will go somewhere. Be something. He was, and continues to be truely wonderful.

I broke up with my boyfriend, who I did, in fact, love because I knew I could never love him, or anyone else for that matter, as much as I loved this boy. As much as I still love him. I don't think those feelings will ever subside. Even as I grow older I can see exactly what I saw in him. Exactly what it was about him that made my knees week.

I would lie awake at night thinking of his captivating smile, and his sparkling eyes. I would wonder when I would see him next. Anticipate our meeting. I came to the conclusion that I would never be able to see him enough. I could wake up in the morning to see him, spend the whole day thereafter with him, and go to bed with his face being the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep, only to dream of him, and then wake up the next morning and live it over again. It still would not be enough. Not nearly enough.

To this day I wonder what I was thinking when I handed him that note. No, that's partly a lie. I was thinking that maybe if he knew how I felt about him, he could love me back. It was wishful thinking, nothing more. The letter that explained my love for him. It told him (indirectly of course) how vulnerable I was. How I wanted nothing more than to give him my whole heart. My soul. My love. I wanted to give him everything, and I didn't want anything in return. Except, that is, maybe his love. I wasn’t expecting anything from him. I wasn't stupid. I knew that he didn't feel the same way, but a girl can hope. Can't she? All I wanted was for him to know and still remain my friend.

I don’t think I ever saw him after that. Maybe once or twice, but merely by coincidence. Giving him that peice of papaer was probably the worst mistake I ever made. It was the worst mistake I've ever mad. He ran away from me, not in literal terms, but that is exactly what he did. And who could blame him? I'm me after all, and who could ever love me? I have never known that love, and I'm confident that I never will.

So here I sit, isolated, perched upon the swing that hangs in my back yard. I can hear the wind chimes that my mother hung singing softly as I stare up at the velvet night sky. It’s like they’re singing the song of my life, so melancholy and sad. The air is warm and breezy. The stars are shining vividly in the sky. I close my eyes and let the wind wash over my face and blow my hair around my face. The night is perfect, though not nearly as perfect as he is. The blade has made it’s home in my right hand and it is calling to me. Coaxing me to return to it after months of hiding. I run my finders over the smooth metal, preparing myself.

I give in. I have no other choice. What choice is there for a girl like me? I'm not pretty, or thin. I don't dress up or wear heals. Isn't that what a man wants? Hoping with all of my heart that I make just one cut deep enough to end it I put the blade to my vains. I press down hard, dragging the cold metal across my skin. The blood doesn't take it's time. It's dripping, running. It's beautiful. The more I hurt inside, the harder I press, the deeper I cut. I find myself crying silent tears as I watch the beautiful ruby blood splatter onto the dried up grass. Every drop bringing a deeper satisfaction. I'm not crying for my life. I don't want to live any longer. I'm crying because I can't have the one I love. I'm crying because I have accepted that I will never loved by anyone. I am worthless, I know that, so this is the best way.

I feel myself growing weary, dizzy even. The world is spinning now, all I can focus on is the razor slipping away from my grasp. It seems to fall to the ground in slow motion. And it almost makes me think I was never even holding it at all, but the blood flowing rapidly from my arm tells me otherwise. I stared at the one small silver, glinting corner that appears in the puddle of blood beneath me. And then, my sight startd to go black. I can no longer see fully. It seems to get darker and darker, the noise around me also fading like a train in the distance until, finally, the world disappears. And then, with one last shallow, shaky breath the world goes black. It was as if I never exsisted at all.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written for Self. He had my heart for so long.

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