brighterday
You were always searching for somebody that made you feel special. I was right here. I wanted to make you feel loved. You wanted it to, I felt it in the soft strokes of your finger tips along my skin, and I felt it in the way your eyes lingered at my lips a few moments too long. You won't let yourself believe it means anything, but I know it means more than either of us could ever understand.
My first memory is particularly gory, and you always said that's why I enjoy bad horror movies so much. I ran and slid across the snow. My face hit an old fashioned lamp post, like the one's they have in Narnia. Blood streaming down my baby porcelain skin. No tears though, I was saving them up for the day you left me.
You were supposed to be away for another year. I didn't speak to you for four months, I couldn't deal with the sad look in your eyes, and the anger that followed when I remembered you left me behind. I saw you from across the room, and his arms were around my waist. My face flushed red, but I decided to go over and make small talk. Small talk, which I hated so much. Small talk, something I'd always been too comfortable with you to have to endure. Small talk, just so that we can be around each other and civil again. You're worth a shot, you always were.
I can't live my life this way forever. You are gone and my world has tail spun into blackness; or perhaps I was already in the darkness before you left. I think that's why you left in the end, I can be too much. One day, one meal, one mouthful at a time, because I refuse to lay down and let myself lay waste to the world.
You slither up to my side and you're warm. For a moment I'm comforted, but then your face is too close to mine, and your whole body is weighing down on me, and I know I don't love you, and I don't want to be here with you. I wish it was her slender figure pressing into my side instead, with her soft lips and perfect bright eyes.
Now that you're far away, I don't know what to do on a bad night. You used to hold me until the memories were blurs again. Now all I have is a jumper that smells vaguely of you, and as I lay here curled up around it, I wonder if the scent is dulling because of all the tears.
You told me not to dwell on the bad things. I try not to. I try not to think of the large, clumsy hands fumbling with the zip of the tent and then with my sleeping bag. I try not to think of the clammy hands running up my legs, and the rough lips at my neck. I try to block out the sounds of my own muffled screams. I try hard, but the memories are stuck, I get stuck on them.
The first time I saw you, we were five years old. I stared at you for what felt like hours, but had to have been something like a whole minute. Your hair glowed like an angel's halo, golden and wonderful, and your eyes were blue just like the sky on a clear winter's day. I think I knew I loved you even then.