Hey.

It's the same old thing, same old song. It's what I always say, even though so many more words are trapped behind my mouth. You thought I let go a long time ago, didn't you? A few months, maybe a year, and everything goes back to normal. The plastered smile on my face you could never see through, because I spent years practicing the art of never letting my feelings show when they just got in the way. But occasionally, I still cry inside, because I can't give this up.

You've moved on, and so have I. You moved on so quickly; I could feel my heart shatter and break apart under your feet. I could only stare in horror as blood seeped through it. I wore my heart on my sleeve, like everyone told me to. But you ripped it from me, and left it broken. Whoever said "It's your mess. You clean it up" obviously didn't count in heartbreak. You knocked over the vase, and I was left cutting my hands apart trying to put myself back together.

You never saw me, did you? I always had my arms wrapped around myself, trying to hold everything I had left inside me. I was bleeding from wounds years old, and you started patching me up. We dug a hole, and you found a way to get out when it got so deep. You ripped your seams out. Now I'm still stranded in there, lost and bleeding, I lost a friend in this mess. She called me weak and an idiot, and I shouldn't have loved you for so long after my world crashed around my ears. But she didn't get it. She didn't get exactly what I lost. I lost my boyfriend and I lost my best friend.

I don't know if you know that, but that's what you were. My boyfriend, a friend I held so dear. I didn't know you were just as insecure as I was. You were so smart, so caring, but you weren't afraid to stand up to authority. You put others before yourself, and nothing was more important to you than friends. Your grades were dismal, but you weren't afraid to live. It was that sense of freedom I envy, and that I fell so hard for. What happened to force the knife on my skin? I'm so sick of bleeding, but I can't completely repair myself. There's no use to be careful around you. I've gotten strong because of you, yes, but the passionate side of me still lies in pieces. And no matter what, they won't fit.

The sick thing is I don't care. I don't want to be fixed. I don't want to be saved. I'll try forming the pieces into something different, a mosaic, and I won't stalk you. But a part of me won't ever let go, and it may kill me. My friends tell me to be careful around you, but there's no use. I'm out of the hole, but my scars are still there. Simple reminders of a past that'll be stuck with me. The wheels are turning, and I can't fight against them. My memories are all I have left. Pain is the only thing keeping them alive.

It may break me. It might even kill me. All my demons, they're hunting me. But good luck to them. If fate is against them, they may even find me.

Love, always,
Me.