Status: hmm...
Broken.
dying dead.
He cries himself to sleep, every night.
He thinks no one knows that his pillow's drenched in tears, that he hugs his favorite teddy bear as a replacement for the one he loves. He thinks no one knows that he hasn't moved on like he's made it seem, that he's actually still dwelling over the boy who stole his heart.
But I do. I know.
It hurts to watch him hurt like this. It hurts to watch him crumble into bits, knowing that I can't fix him. I'm the boy who broke him; I'm the one who left him. But leaving him wasn't my choice—no, it was God's. And now I can't fix him.
I try to wipe a tear off his cheeks as it streams down his pale face, but I can't feel anything. It's not wet, it's not cold, it's not even there. My fingers pass through him, as if he's hollow. But he's not the hollow one, I am.
All I want to do is wrap him in my arms and kiss the tears away, because I know well enough that that's exactly what he needs right now. But I can't. So all I do is sit there by his side and watch, watch painfully silently, and pray to God that he'll find someone to love him just as much as I do, or maybe even more.
It may hurt to see him with someone else, and I probably won't be able to take in the sight then, but if there's someone out there who can heal his broken heart, then so be it. Let him be healed; let him find his antidote to my love of poison.
Knowing how forsaken and lost in the world he feels, for the first time, I feel like I'm actually dying—when I'm already dead.
He thinks no one knows that his pillow's drenched in tears, that he hugs his favorite teddy bear as a replacement for the one he loves. He thinks no one knows that he hasn't moved on like he's made it seem, that he's actually still dwelling over the boy who stole his heart.
But I do. I know.
It hurts to watch him hurt like this. It hurts to watch him crumble into bits, knowing that I can't fix him. I'm the boy who broke him; I'm the one who left him. But leaving him wasn't my choice—no, it was God's. And now I can't fix him.
I try to wipe a tear off his cheeks as it streams down his pale face, but I can't feel anything. It's not wet, it's not cold, it's not even there. My fingers pass through him, as if he's hollow. But he's not the hollow one, I am.
All I want to do is wrap him in my arms and kiss the tears away, because I know well enough that that's exactly what he needs right now. But I can't. So all I do is sit there by his side and watch, watch painfully silently, and pray to God that he'll find someone to love him just as much as I do, or maybe even more.
It may hurt to see him with someone else, and I probably won't be able to take in the sight then, but if there's someone out there who can heal his broken heart, then so be it. Let him be healed; let him find his antidote to my love of poison.
Knowing how forsaken and lost in the world he feels, for the first time, I feel like I'm actually dying—when I'm already dead.
♠ ♠ ♠
306 words.honestly? i don't know where i'm going with this.
in fact, later i might decide to just end it here, and leave it as some sort of two-shot.
i really don't know. i just came up with this, and i thought hey, why not post it?
i'm not sure if this will turn out to be a proper story, or if it'll just be narration after narration, with no proper start or end.
it'd be nice if people commented and/or subscribed though. :3
but if you don't want to, that's okay too, of course. sigh. :/