i got used to writing sad things.
i would post my short stories and cry writing and rereading them.
for years and years, i let the blood run down my arms,
reopening wounds that i covered and tried to forget for the sake of making something.
i used to believe that the sadness that was woven into my existence was All of me,
the only thing that made me Me.
but i was wrong.
the way your warmth came into my sight and the way your hands gently covered my scars and wounds and bruises,
my sadness wasn't me.
it was until i met you that i began to remember what happiness and love felt like.
i still flinched at an open hand but you were the only one who reassured me that your hands would never harm me or anyone.
your love was never questioned by the dark clouds in my head.
on my darkest days, i would remember your love and i would open my box of Us and remembered that there are people out there,
there are people out there who love without the pain that "needed" to be inflicted.
everyone would say that they'd die for the people they love.
but no, not me.
i would Live for the people i love.
i spend most of my life wanting to die because of others but no, not you.
i would and will Live for you.