Our first picture, our first moment, and our first memory, is of us jumping off of a bridge.
I should've known from the very first day when we jumped off that bridge, that I was plunging into a lot more than the water below.
I should've known that you would never be mine, when you told me to jump, but didn't hold my hand.
I should've known that I was getting into sleepless nights and lonesome afternoons when I plunged so deep into the water I felt like I was drowning.
I should've known that you were the reason for my drowning, and that you can't heal yourself in the same place you became ill.
I should've listened to my grandmother when she told me that the most evil things in our world are often masked by their beauty.
And I should've realized sooner that it was never you, and it never will be you.