A Bleeding Lily
Permanent
10 April 2008 {Thursday}
Being in the same room with my mother is almost unbearable. Especially since yesterday she sat me down at the kitchen table and told me how worried she was about me. One hour of her talking at me about her fears. I tuned in and out, only really hearing half of what she said. I just stared at the patterns of the wood on the table.
I could always confide in you when something was wrong, you were the only person I could really talk to. My other friends aren't as close as you are to me. I could never bring myself to tell them my secrets and my heartaches. And now I definitely can't, I can't burden them with what happened. It's too much.
I know if you were here talking to me right now you'd tell me to endure the therapy. You'd say that maybe, given time, it could actually help me.
I guess I'll have to take your imaginary advice. I think I'd better if I'm resorting to talking tosome dead girl.
I've never described you like that. It's so cold and final and insensitive. I don't think I could ever say that out loud. But it's worse to stare at it on the page. I'm sorry I wrote that. And crossing it out didn't fix it. It's still there, bold and blue and permanent. I want to throw this pen away now. The pen that wrote those cruel words.
But I won't. I won't because it belonged to you, one of the few pieces of you that I can still touch.
Being in the same room with my mother is almost unbearable. Especially since yesterday she sat me down at the kitchen table and told me how worried she was about me. One hour of her talking at me about her fears. I tuned in and out, only really hearing half of what she said. I just stared at the patterns of the wood on the table.
I could always confide in you when something was wrong, you were the only person I could really talk to. My other friends aren't as close as you are to me. I could never bring myself to tell them my secrets and my heartaches. And now I definitely can't, I can't burden them with what happened. It's too much.
I know if you were here talking to me right now you'd tell me to endure the therapy. You'd say that maybe, given time, it could actually help me.
I guess I'll have to take your imaginary advice. I think I'd better if I'm resorting to talking tosome dead girl.
I've never described you like that. It's so cold and final and insensitive. I don't think I could ever say that out loud. But it's worse to stare at it on the page. I'm sorry I wrote that. And crossing it out didn't fix it. It's still there, bold and blue and permanent. I want to throw this pen away now. The pen that wrote those cruel words.
But I won't. I won't because it belonged to you, one of the few pieces of you that I can still touch.
♠ ♠ ♠
{ On a completely different note:A friend of mine is writing a really adorable story: The Bunnies. So if you're in the mood for something that's not depressing and you happen to love little furry animals, check it out. :) }
And as always, comments are much loved so keep writing 'em!
~aep