Even then the saddest sounds, were nothing laughter could not drown. But we are not laughing now.. Swallow the sun, erase the sky - an invitation has been declined. Where did you go?
There's so much no one knows about me. So much no cares to ask, or remember, or listen about. That hurts sometimes. But sometimes it's a good thing. But 90% of the time; I don't like having to tell someone something I've already told someone else. I just want someone to know. To understand. To see the look and know if I want to talk, or if I just want them. But no one really seems to know, or care, or listen so much.
I just want one person who understands what certain things mean to me. Just one. One person who'll hug me, and smile, and look at me and make me feel better. They don't even have to tell me it'll be okay. Because honestly, I hate being told 'everything will be fine' or anything to that affect. Because, of course things will be okay - they don't have to see the scars. Or live with the torment. Or feel the way I do, every day.
They can say it's fine all they want. But they don't know the story. Sometimes I don't even know the full story. And I want someone to listen to the things I don't say. And remember, and care. I know, it's too much. I don't deserve it, at all. But I would like to mean that much to someone. I'd listen to everything anyone said, and there isn't really someone I wouldn't want to tell me everything. But no one else really seems to want, or feel that way about me. And that's okay, I guess. It just hurts that I don't have someone that I can tell everything to, and have them make me feel better.
I'm tired of people expecting something else, not understanding. I know I'm nothing special. I know that. I don't need it constantly shoved in my face. I know I make the wrong choices about alot of things. But I dwell on the points when I was loved. And I need to throw it away. I can't. And I don't entirely want to. I miss the way things used to be for me. But I love things now. There's not comparison. And nothing I can do to fix it. But there's no one who wants to fix it, who understands it at all, even.
I had someone, once, who understood to some point. Who sat with me when I talked to my counselor. We held my hand. She never held me while I cried myself to sleep and she never knew the whole story, but she knew how much he meant to me. No one knows, entirely how much he meant, and I can never show it. And I'll never say it. But she's gone now. And I don't want her back. She asked how I was taking things when the accident happened, she was the only one who asked. And couldn't even tell her the truth. But she's forgotten now. Everyone has. But I can't. It keeps me from sleeping, knowing it replays in his head everytime he closes his eyes. I can't keep from crying when I think about what he goes through every day when I complain so much about my life.
He was there, when everyone else left. When my mother couldn't stand to be around me; when she blamed me. When my dad left me. When I knew I was leaving everyone and when I wasn't okay. He was there. When she died, I felt him cry, I saw songs that reminded him of her tear him apart and I wasn't even good at being there. And now I'm not there. I lost him. I can't have him back. That day, I didn't cry, I saw the news, I read the reports, I saw my mother break down over it. And I went to the hospital, and I saw the scars in his eyes. And I didn't cry. He didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't his fault. And I can still blame myself. Because if I never left, he wouldn't have been there. And they'd all still be alive. But I made them take me away from him. And I lost more then my best friend. I lost everything. And I never cried. I never wrote him letters. I never called him. And then I see him, and he takes me back, holds me like I never left, tells me how much he loves me. Because he doesn't blame me. I listened to the story the way he told it. And I cried. I heard the pain, and saw the tears. And I cried. He made me smell like her; the girl he blames himself for losing. It wasn't his fault. And I still blame myself.
He asked me to leave. Because he needs me. And I can't go, I can't. I'd have gone for him. To be there everyday, and fix those scars. But if they take him away again. I can't lose him, not again. I can't live in that place without him. And I can't be away from every escape. It meant alot that I went. I wanted to. It wouldn't have been nice, a new place, new people. I had that opportunity. I don't think anyone knows how much it would have meant to me. But I can't leave. Because I need to be here. Because if I lose him again, I need everyone I can get. I'll need what I know. And I'll need my escape. If I can keep him, I'll be here, and I can see him when I can. And things will stay the same. They could be so much better, but I can't take that risk. Because I can't live through that. And no one understands. It's not my fault. But I need here. Because it's familiar. And I can love it here. I will love it here. Because it's the only place I can be where I can fall apart like this.
"Fuck this hurts." "I know it hurts. That's life. If nothing else, It's life. It’s real, and sometimes it fucking hurts, but it's sort of all we have."
