homes built on gray space
balancing on lover’s grace
I retract and confine,
soothed by the mercy of time.
they have their marching orders
and their detached constraints.
the shattered stained glass ceilings
portray them all as saints.

I painted you in gold,
your crown was set in stone.
cracks collected in silence,
crumbling once alone.

Rehearsal’s meant for perfection, but this is another stage.The act of doing. Blinded by the spotlight, struck still by the paralyzing heartbeat in my throat. And this is not the first time that I have been here, I am not proud to say. And I am unsure of which part I am more ashamed of: the fact that I felt the need to do, or that I lacked the courage to follow through. So here we are again, brought together by the forces of the wind. Being pulled together by the strings of our hearts, playing each other in the selfish game this has always been. It’s physics, no matter how far we run from each other, no matter how much blood was shed when I tried to cut you free, no matter how many cold shoulders we rested on at night; we always return to the same place, this same state. A vicious cycle that every time steals more and more of my sanity. I feel it slip through my fingers quicker each time and I claw and I claw my way to regain it, but there you are, holding it in your hand. A trophy. You’ve claimed everything of mine; maybe it was unknowingly so. But I have no tears left to shed, ducts dried and shriveled. I have not felt the knife of anger and sadness in my side for a long time, nor the relief of laughter and happiness; even on Friday nights when I’m laying next to you, under your covers. Just this terrible, aching numbness. This inhumane indifference that curdles at the pit of my stomach. I cannot daydream because I always somehow return back to you. And most nights I can’t fall asleep, but I’m more so afraid to. Of believing that you really are in front of me, brushing the hair out of my face and kissing my neck, just to wake up to a bed filled with haunting memories and a body aching with the desire to be held.
This cycle has to come to an end, and here we are. I stand there before you, silver blade of the knife shining from my hand. For the first time in an entire year, I finally evoke emotion. Your eyes grow wide with shock and fear like I’ve never seen before. I’m sure a while ago, accomplishment would have coursed through me. But I am only here to end this. To end your prolonged chapter of my life; overdue.
Give me an hour or so, I could name all the wrongdoings you’ve ever done. I could document and chronicle the periods of pain that have filled these past two years of my life, only to be broken by short bursts of shallow happiness. Although this is all true, I still love you. And I know once I walk away from here, the thought of you will continue to haunt every step of my life. Only worse, there would be no possibility of ever seeing you again.
There is no freedom from you in this world. Miles away, everything still reminds me of you. There is no killing you.
So I looked into your eyes, one last time, as I drew the blade through my throat.

from time to time I pull on the shades,
roses for dulling the pain.
but I return to piecing the mirror back again
each hoping the reflection won't be the same.
you stand in the kitchen, clutching coffee and *****.
try to drink the ache away.
you can't quite identify the void that's carved inside
but this has become the routine of your days.

with only two hours left to sleep
your dreams followed you through opening of eyes
and you made your home inside the haze.
words burn in the chamber of smoke
as faces fade with the pink shade.
you find yourself at the window once again
wondering what it's like to fly.
you and I know the only freedom we can hold
is the release int he act to die.

six feet under you hold me down.
I'm left confused, dressed in blacks and blues.
keeping a palmful of ground
so while they see that it's only me
I'll always have you around.

take me fast in rolling gusts
and pull me underneath.
I ate your words as you fed
them to me. but they all
caught between my teeth.

i dreamt of you last night

there we stood, at the campground
separated by the delicate ties
woven together in the intricate web
that brought us together in the first place.
we had to act as strangers even though
i know more about you than your
best friend,who stood three feet away.
couldn't meet my eyes to risk familiarity.

even my dreams know
we can't be together.

daylight speaks through somber teeth,
detrimental deeds hang on its back.
carve the words stuck on your cheek,
let winter crush all that we once had.
wasted, losing time.
I lost what was mine.
I’m sorry I let it smother our light.
I’m sorry I didn’t put up a fight.
my limbs hang bare, like trees;
I’ve given you all of me.
like the cold, you are life’s demise.
maybe I should have stayed inside.

I am depression.
Depression is me
and I am the one I am fighting.
I am the one that tears my mind
apart, that rapes the insides for every
vulnerable and clean vessel left.

I am used.
I am *****.
I am not worthy of a kind touch
I do not want a kind touch
I don't not want help
don't cry, don't say you love me
don't make me want this again.

I am tired.
I am hateful and jaded
but that all ties to the hurt that
I've been masking for years.
And now I just can't make the
effort to hide anymore.

I am so sorry
to the five year old girl
with big blue eyes and
too short bangs who thought
that dad could scare off the monsters.
But they still escaped the closet.

I am so sorry, dad,
I know you didn't want
your little girl to go through this
to feel this disease that has contaminated
this bloodline. And I am sorry of all
the future plans I might rob you of.

I am so sorry for wasting potential.
I am the girl who cried wolf
but I have been dead for quite some time.

I'm happy for you. No. I'm proud of you. And it feels weird saying that, as if I stand on the podium of a proud parent but no, you are in fact the one that is raised to the light. Our eyes have never met level anyways. As a friend, I am happy and overwhelmed of what you've become.
I'm afraid I do not have beautiful words to say to you. I've misplaced beauty a while ago. All I can offer is a smile and a goodbye.

you were not meant to stay here.

i'm washed up
overrated
hateful and mean.
i'm in love with
my own misery
that i would ever be
with anyone else.

sorry to let you down.

I think I'm becoming a sociopath.
I know I should be scared
but I'm not.
I can't feel anything.

“When I was younger, I thought all I wanted was to be alone. Cramped in that two-bedroom house with my parents and siblings, with no space to think or to even take a **** without someone knocking on the door. I wanted to go to college just because I thought I needed space–space to breathe and to become my own person.”

“And now?” Mallory asked. Each word that left her mouth wrote itself across the pitch black of December and I stared at each letter until I could not only make sense of the question, but to realize the answer.

“And now I realize that my own person is someone that I don’t like very much.”

The words were as unkind slipping off my tongue as they were sitting in the back of my mind. Now they’ve materialized, holding an undeniable presence and their heavy aftertaste made my stomach turn.

I don’t know if I was looking for sympathy. If I was waiting for her to reassure that I was in fact not a terrible human being. That her company is not a polite obligation. But she sat there saying nothing, and that was louder than anything she could have said out loud. I looked to my right, at the woman I wordlessly fell in love with. Her blank stare into the dimly lit street below pushing me farther and farther away and suddenly I felt the need to say anything to anchor me to her before she drifted too far away.

“I left. And I get that it was my choice, but there was no way I could be satisfied staying in this town for the rest of my life like everyone else. Moving to a city where I knew absolutely no one; it was a change. I went from speaking to the same people everyday for four years to not saying a single word for multiple days in a row. I couldn’t be gentle anymore; I couldn’t be vulnerable. And if that makes me a bad person, then I guess I am. But I did it to survive. You can’t criticize me for my methods to survive knowing you.”

to have lost, to watch
you leave my room one last time.
the sunlight followed.

now you’re just a reflection, the anxious
itch of addiction, the exhausted ache of
alcohol drowning my veins into a subdued
state. you are the moaning of each muscle,
reminding me of how difficult it is to simply exist.
you are the inferno engulfing my chest as
bourbon fuels the flames of the hell that
I am. you are the angry, crimson cuts collecting
over my arms and legs because physical pain
is so much easier than the empty bed you
left behind. you are the approaching decision
of whether to sink or swim. and I am so scared
of choosing either one.

I'm not asking for them to care.
I'm not asking for any of you to care.
I just want them to let me decide
when and how I should die.

"I hate you."
That phrase hung there in the bone chilling air.
To me, the weight had lifted.
Or more like I finally heaved the overbearing
luggage, twisting my spine
or finally decided the horse was, in fact, dead.
But I saw the effect in his eyes.
And I feel disgusting for saying that I felt
the light fingertips of happiness for the first time in a while.
To finally awake the slightest remnant of emotion out of him.

"You don't mean that"
It played more as a plea than a statement.

"I do," I laughed.
I laughed out of relief.
Out of embarrassment of allowing abuse in my life
once again. But this time it was not with the strike
of the hand, but of the sharp blades of words
and the blunt impact of neglect.
He then asked, "Then why are you here?"

Laughing through tears,
"Because I have no one else; I'm stuck with you.
I not only destroyed myself but every other
relationship I had with people just so
I could hold your attention.
But I'm not your child and I shouldn't have to beg
when sixteen months ago, you couldn't keep your eyes off me.
But that's not the worst part.
The worst part is that I only want you.
No one else.
And you destroyed any chances of me trusting you."

"it is better to have loved
and lost" as they would like to say
but no wise words can stop the ache
this aggravating pain.

to not have loved would be to not have known
what could be taken away.
not to long for his movement, his touch
the smile that spreads across his face.

"it is better to have loved and lost"
but i have lost everything.
except his picture in my mind
that visits in my dreams.

held between fingertips, the sand sinks
through the cracks, funneling till absent.
but I can still feel the rush of grain,
the colliding of corners and burning
friction. I can still feel the weight,
the obligation of its existence
long after it retreated into the abyss.
I lit the last match just to watch it
burn. the last hopes escaping into the
air, never to comeback. a chemical change
cannot be undone. a chemical imbalance
they told me. the happiness disappeared,
only with blue and yellow lights to
dance around my frontal lobes. physically
incapable of joy, I sit here, watching the
old memories fade, replaced by darkness
I, here, holding the ashes.

I feel that I have lived much longer than I was supposed to. The seconds draw their claws on the chalkboard slowly, slowly, slowly... The razorblade separates the skin, the familiar inferno engulfing my body. The familiar deafening heart throb as I lay in the pool of my own emptiness, my regret. The shame of returning to the old habit. I did not count the pills, the tears did not allow sight. But a palmful later, I found myself on the ground, curled up with him. Potential has always been my greatest enemy. I have been running from him my whole life. I've been trying to drown out his screams. It was a good game.

let the edges blur,
easier to see
muted silhouettes
with your amber hair.

your words, once easy
to swallow when you
stained my lips crimson,
leave a bitter taste.

like the aching in
my outstretched arms,
clung to expectation,
fallen in defeat.

I'm going to be that lame person that asks you to follow their Tumblr.

so here ya go: http://typewriterbleeding.tumblr.com
please and thank you xoxo

Onetwothreefour
Onetwothreefourfivesixseven
Onetwothreefourfivesi­xseveneight.
Onetwothreefour
Onetwothreefourfivesixseven
Onetwoth­reefourfivesixseveneight.
Onetwothe blinding light.
Bright.
****.
Onetwothreefourfi—ants.
Crawling up and down my spine.
Fire. Electrifying my veins
Ripriprip them out.
Bleed the bad out.
****.
Onetwothreefourfivesixsev
There is no solitude.
There is no true isolation
When every time my eyelids shut
His face is branded on the inside like veins.
Proteins and cells dance together
Into memories far gone and much missed.
One breath in.
If only that would do the trick.
But there is obligation in it.
Follow up required.
Two doctors that told me depression was normal.
Follow ups every week to month
To when the next bad reaction to medication.
Three times I accepted him back into my life.
Why did I let him in again?
The flame of ******* is always to be chased
After the first hit.
Four times
That I actually remember him say
That he loved me.
But it would be zero
As to the number of times he proved so.
Five years since I have been happy.
Or is it more?
I don’t remember anymore.
Six…six…six…
Because I chose to side with the devil
Since God would not love me.
Seven was my lucky number
Until I concluded that
Luck must not run in my family.
Eight. Open.
In.
Onetwothreefour.
Hold. Still.
Onetwothreefourfivesixseven.
Outoutout.
Onetwothreefourfiv­esixseveneight.
Are you okay now?

What a stupid question.

the paper blank
there's nothing left to say

I hope it hurts
that it’s my hand
that claws your throat
whenever you kiss her.

drag yourself
across the shards
the fragments that reflect
the hollowness we are.

let it hang
a fractured breath in the air
that is not quite there
something vague.

I find myself longing for my faith. But nothing can make me believe in a God anymore, or even want to worship him.

2. I guess I just miss being naïve.

3. Sleeping pills.

4. Finding out that taking too much Lexapro makes me throw up for hours on end.

5. Finding out that taking more Lexapro won't make the sadness go away. It sits in the corner, waiting for me to come running back to it.

6. I run.

7. I'm scared.

8. I'm scared of death.

9. I'm scared of living.

10. I'm stuck.

11. I've allowed myself to think about your death. I've been in denial for so long...I guess I was just waiting to see you in the crowd one day.

12. Dying does not make you a ******* saint.

13. I want to cut again. I miss it more than anything. But I can't handle disappointing my parents.

14. I feel bad for my suicide attempt. I'm disgusted with myself that I made my family go through that. But I am a selfish person.

15. I am so alone.

expectations ring around
the fragile glass of champagne
party favors tracing the
tracks of the damage done.

you weren’t there to hold my hair,
I said ‘good night’ to the floor
of a stranger’s living room
soaked with my blood stains and ***.

these Friday nights without you
leave me emptier each time,
longing for what was once mine
but now dissolved in the sun.

that boy carried my bones into the night
his face lit by street lights, words growing like forests
but these trees cannot grow while in the dark
so undo his shirt and take off the mask
only space filled by the breaths that depart.

he knew what he was doing, confusing my mind
cut the corners so I’m subdued to silence.
wide-eyed, just how you like me.

well, these brittle bones can’t seem
to twist and contort to your dreams,
your whims have their own motive
as your gentle touch seals me in secrecy.

we both know that I’m not your lover,
just caught in a fever I can’t defeat.
your company under the covers,
left with the memory of your touch
and smell of your sheets.

you are fall
you are the absence of warmth on early morning with sleep in my eyes
the teasing sunshine that makes rare appearances
the gray from my lips as I let go of unspoken words.
when you come, I have to hide more of myself.
exposing myself to you has grown so uncomfortable.

you let everything die
and not in the merciful manner of winter, not swiftly,
but drawn out.
early nights and denial of light
I find myself always wondering the alleyways alone.
death has never been so beautifully colored
I have never dreaded October so much.

To hear your two syllables
Fall off the lips of the person
Beside me.
To brace myself
And not to wince
Of the name from which I’m hiding.
I buried the thought
Of you away
In the corners of my mind
As the sound of your voice
Begins to fade
In the collection of time.
And with that name
She gave you life
Brought you from the grave.
I once again must find a way
To bury your thought
Back where it should have stayed.

it was not in the high E's or the low G's
stretched across the wire string,
not in the fluid movement of dance
crowding the open spaces.
not in the light laughter or
in the simple words coming from
simple mouths with simple, detached
minds. not in the meaningless touch
of the stranger next to me
or in the breath burning my neck.

we made beauty out of silence
appreciated the smooth ring of emptiness,
the raw obligation of space.
the thousand words of a glance,
the gentle touch of your eyes.
the immaculate hold of tears
and uncomfortable truths.
the shelter in sleepless nights
and the strength of withdrawals.
the few moments of being with
the one that defines your life
is the beauty I have seen.

Sometimes, I know you only
as your absence, hanging in the air.
I befriended her, she knows my name.
I learned to love her, or to love
the gift she gives: a pain to call my own.
A knife in my back is inherently mine, after all.
On the days where the sunlight
seems to vanish she is there, waiting
to embrace me. She’s more beautiful than you,
her skin shines like gold, her youth preserved
like a stained-glass saint. She is the only
thing that withstands time, a monument.

You are more than aching arms outstretched to
the empty air, than the frustration of beating the
same dead horse. You are the sound of
shattering glass when you walked into
the bar with someone new after you canceled
our plans once again because you were ‘busy’.
You are the noose around my neck, looking down,
smiling at the sight of me strangling to escape you.
You are words written on fogged glass,
vanishing before being read. You are
the cold beds of strangers and my tear-
drenched plea for you to stay, just this once.

touch my skin, don’t read my mind
disappears before it’s gone.
burn the bridges down
ruins swept and gone.

share my skin and not my mind,
tape has played and gone,
there is nothing left to play
script was said and done.

books stacked high, loaded gun
sweet ****** taste starts to run.
I like the haze and the smell of sin
there was no difference where you’re gone.

black lace dance around my hips
intoxicated lips, I’m crazy.
whiskey drown my lungs to sleep
sink your words into the deep
I’m ******* crazy.

you’re dark, you’re smoke, you’re night
immersed in your own sad life
you’re ******* crazy.

touch my skin, don’t read my mind,
disappears before it’s done.
burn the bridges down
I’ll build another anyhow.

share my skin and not my mind,
tape has played and gone,
there is nothing left to play
I feel you leaving now.

touch his lips
flesh underneath my fingertips.
diving into blue waters
lit by stars that guide the way.

kiss and touch flow together
with the hours spent in bed
and the days scarred forever in my mind.

to wake up to your voice
and to kiss the morning’s
first breath from your lips.
to feel your skin, like crushed
velvet, gliding against mine
under covers, softly lit by
the new day. to remember
your words, to take them
and keep them like a
photograph to take me back
to Saturday mornings with you.

Indulged me in its golden glow,
traced its light across my face,
trailing freckles in its wake.
It hung in the sky for the
world to see, prideful in its praise,
entranced in its illumination,
I strayed, held at a safe distance.
Long hours embraced in your heat,
your company inevitably consuming me.

Hypnotized, I came too close.
The warmth that wrapped
around my skin pulled me in
and now I burn to the touch.
Fever catching like flames,
suddenly I am a wildfire.

The days collect and seasons run.
Your light diminishes to dusk.
Winter creeps into my bones,
gray-scale shaded the home
I once found comfort in. Your love
lingers for shorter hours now,
chasing its shadow on the ground,
I grasp with fingertips as we drift
further and further away.
It leaves me longing for summer days.

I saw her sunlit silhouette
laced in the whites of the morning.
her cigarette stained mouth escaped
with the memory of her kiss,
of the taste burned on my lips.
I have to remind myself that
she is real,  as absolute as
the air that crushes my chest,
as the words she left on my breath.

I'm sorry
that I thought
you liked me
when I was laying
on the ground
and you kissed me.

My bad.

my mind is troubled by the emptiness,
having only the mess you left behind.
perfect the art of saving what is left,
trying push past the finish line.
I can never seem to burn away the inside
to clean all that you have touched,
erase the stains of your hands, believe me, I’ve tried.
the floods washed away this home,
left me alone with the words
hanging from the ceiling you broke.
I swear I was going to ask you to stay.
it was on my breath when you broke my chest.
wrap up these bones,
they’re no use to you.
splintered, shattered,
like a present.  

how can hate still spit from your lips?

Skin clung around my bones like an itchy sweater. Nerves on fire with anticipation. I have been around myself long enough to know I cannot be alone much longer. Drowned in emotions too often to know that this dull indifference is just the calm before the storm.
You have robbed me of everything. Of my best friend, of my family, of my faith and trust, of love. And now you have thieved me of my emotions. I am an empty shell, body aching from longing. I do not want to cry because I am not sad. I do not wish to yell because I am not angry. Yet I cannot smile because I am neither happy. I do not speak because I have no words to say to you. I wasted them begging you not to leave the first time.
I am unsure if this is of content, for I've never experienced it. All I know is nothing scares me more than myself. What I am capable of doing when I have nothing to lose when the storm arrives.

I could arrange the broken bones
but the cracks would still
map out like constellations.
my ruptured ribs are bruised
and floating with no home.

you traced my scars with fingertips
and kissed my forehead ‘till I fell asleep.
you know I am broken, my dear.
so please, handle with care.

I’m afraid Sunday’s expectation
is harder to swallow than I thought.
that the grey, evening air does not sit
in my lungs so easily.

the promise of your presence hangs
on the delicate thread of your word
that has been known to give way many
times before.

stop running me through the sevens
to meet the same conclusion again,
do not try to lift these spirits
just to let them fall through your hands.

just let me move on from your broken word,
verify my claims and rid from this hurt.

When we first met, it was almost like a movie. And you were kind, and warm, and loving and all the unidentifiable qualities that I’ve always known that I was missing but that I couldn’t quite name. You brought me so close to the sun that I nearly lost my footing. Oh, but the view! An adventure—you were the unknown yet the assurance that you were, in fact, what I’ve been waiting for. You became a virus—in the most romanticized way. My dear, I did not wish to be rid of you. You were all I could see, a scarlet fever casting rosy shade. And the doctors all told me that I would lose myself to you, but I only almost heard their warnings. You see, when you are that close to the sun, it is hard to tell between a sunburn and seared skin. From that height, everything is small, detached, and insignificant and it became my only sense of reality. But even you, yourself, became a challenge. Blistering scars behind elbows not quite completely covered by long sleeves in July heat and the collecting makeshift holes marking your belt. I almost asked, but you see, then it would be our problem. And I wasn’t quite ready for that. I knew we were on the edge of something great, and I didn’t want Her to cut us short. You disappeared with Her for weeks—sometimes I wished that you were in the arms of another instead. Cause when She whistled through the needle, into your veins, She always took more and more of you away. She carved you hollow and you stood as a ruin of the temple I once worshipped. I almost didn’t recognize you and from this height, I couldn’t see how you slowly began disappearing. I still think about you often, and what name you would have, carved into stone above the relationship gone bad. You are my Almost. Because we were on the edge of something beautiful, but we fell short. Almost—the name sat on my tongue as your mother asked me if I had known, and the words almost made it out of my throat but even I was not ready to admit that you slipped through my fingers. Almost—as in I almost made it to your apartment in time. And maybe I could have stopped Her from taking the last bit of you. Maybe I would have caught you before you hit the ground.

“I hate when people ask what I am thinking. I never really know how to answer that question because, quite frankly, I don’t even know. Over the years my mind has seemed to transform into this hive, thoughts flying around in a gray cloud, each one having their own separate buzz. And all of these sounds fuse together into one confusing and paralyzing hum to where I can’t identify a single thought. So I don’t know how to answer the question as to what I am thinking because there are so many thoughts crawling on top of each other to get out. And so I choose to just be silent. Being silent is just so much easier.”
I looked up at the man. He appeared to be only a few years older than me, maybe in his mid-twenties. His hair, dishwater blonde, was swept to the side, the kind of style fraternity boys at my previous school used to always wear when they had to dress up for chapter. His eyes were so vividly blue. Every time that he looked at me I would stay still, purely out of fear that he found me transparent.
But he had an amused grin spreading across his face, dimples carving into his cheeks. It was a common smile of his: one not of understanding, but of assumption. “And what are you thinking of right now?” Dr. Smith asked.
I rolled my eyes, accidentally releasing two unknown tears that rimmed my lash line. I met his eyes, gritting my teeth. “You’re not listening.”

had always stood out from the others. He was the answer key that I had compared all others to. All of them fell short. For five years I was reluctant to give myself to him and I am unsure as to why except for the fact that every time the thought was considered, I pictured myself myself walking into an inferno. My entire being engulfed in flames; all of my nerved exposed. All so exposed...
Those before him were that compared to a virus. Running swiftly through my veins; my body burning in a constant fever. My own love was destroying me.
But falling in love with       was like rediscovering a sense that I had not known was disabled. I was able to see clearly for the first time in years. He wiped away the sleep from my eyes. The world was beautiful again. I never knew a touch could be so gentle, so loving. It had been so long since I've been held. I never knew words could sound so beautiful until when they glided off his lips.
Together we discovered the ability to slow time. Kissing his lips, I felt each second, each pulse pushing throughout his veins. The faceless boys before him were solely on possession. They consumed me entirely. There was no 'me'; I simply did not exist. I was not living.
      was nirvana. He freed me from pain and worry. He introduced me to pure beauty. I did not know that I was able to feel happiness anymore. He stayed*, and dug it out of me as if he had always known it was there. When I look in the mirror, I actually see my reflection. My smile. It's been so long...

Fearlessly and willingly, I walked into the flames. And in all of his beauty, he set me afire, raising me from the ashes of my shadows, freeing me. Able to stand on my own. I am finally alive.

Every time I try to construct the perfect opening line, my mouth floods with venom. Nails clawing my palms to remind myself to keep composure, not to inflict unfixable damage.
I don't know if we have ended. I don't know what we are. But I know I am no longer in your thoughts. No longer in your words or your smile. I know you no longer have room for me.
And I know how you see me. You think I'm a mess. That I can't stay sober because of my boredom. That I push others away by taking them for granted. That I took you for granted.
But you don't know me and I no longer know you. And you say that you don't judge but I can feel it every time I speak to you. And it's probably my own reflection.
It kills me that I don't know you anymore. It kills me that we no longer text each other until the first hours of the morning. That I no longer see you and that you no longer care. I can't stay sober because there is no happiness anymore. Because I would give anything to forget the reality in this situation. I push people away because what's the point when even my closest friend doesn't have room for me in his  life anymore. When we spent six years building this relationship only to be standing in ruins. I no longer live because I am haunted daily.
You said you've changed. So has everything. You like yourself now and I'm really trying to be happy for you. You have so much going for you that I understand how my absence doesn't phase you. But it was the old you I fell in love with. It is the old you that I long for, that I miss with my entire being.
But to read your words that those six years together had been a waste, that even to you, I am the villain, cuts deeper than any blade across my skin.
That's life.
And I genuinely hope you are happy.