"You're supposed to write so that you heal", she whispers.
"Have you forgotten your purpose?"
She nods her head in disappointment.
"You're falling back. And you know very well no one can catch you. Hence why you write.
So that the paper holds on carefully to your scars so that it takes in all your bruises. So that your hands itch not to hurt themselves but to relieve themselves with a pen, a pencil anything. As long as it feels the texture of paper."
"Stop falling back!" She shouts.
I looked at her. I didn't allow her words to sink in. I just looked at her.
Her hazel eyes piercing into my dark brown.
Her eyebrows furrowed with anger and jaws clenched from burning my heart.
"I can't" I exhale.
"I'm too broken to write.
I love the book. I can't stain it with so much pain to the extent that I can't look at it. I don't read my own work because it traumatises me.
So yes I'm falling back because I can't hurt my book. I want it to be filled with happiness. At least let it tell the story of my shining days.
I can't hurt it", my knees buckle as I fall to the floor.
"I don't want to", I sniffle
"Don't let me", I clench my fists feeling the cold tiles against my knuckles.
She goes down on her knees.
Pulls her hair back and clears her throat.
"You have to write"
"If you don't..." she pauses.
Clears her throat once again and sniffles
"I'll lose you too", she bows her head.
I lifted her chin up and looked into her puffy eyes.
"I hate to make you cry", I sighed.
"But what point is saving myself when we both already lost you?" I whispered.
"Don't say that", her voice shook.
I closed my eyes and sighed.
Slowly removed my hand from her chin and stood up.
"Why do I have to be the one who's alive in this when I long lost you?" I brushed my hair back.
"I just don't get it", I said barely above a whisper, I slouched in defeat.
"Because you're saving me", her voice cracked.
