Aftershock

Sometimes she feels lost. When she looks around, what she sees is blurry, too colourful, too fake. That’s what this world has become to her – a fake place. Everyone and everything is hiding their secrets, showing what they think people want to see, that it’s just become fake.

No one knows anyone, really. You can think you understand how they feel, but you really can’t. Unless you are them, you know nothing of how they feel. No one can understand how she feels either.

No one knows that she cries herself to sleep every night, listening to the same song over and over until it’s ringing in her ears even with the music off. She likes to torture herself, see – and that song holds the memories of him and forces it into her mind.

It makes her scream into her pillow, and cry until she has no energy left. Sometimes she wonders if she’s too weak to even live. All she does is look into the past, reliving the memories over and over, just like the song playing over and over.

Even physical pain doesn’t help any, but she still cuts herself open, simply because she deserves it. She wants to see the blood because it tortures her even more, reminds her again. There is nothing more torturous than reminding herself.

And still, she scratches at her skin until it’s red raw but it still won’t get the feeling away. Every second she can still feel him. Every second she can still feel the fear, the undeniable fear of him not listening to her “No” again.

And she thinks I should not feel like this.