Such a hypocrite I was, asking him to save me when I would not even save myself. 

“Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes

But it’s the only thing that I know

When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes

It is the only thing that makes us feel alive. 

Loving can heal

Loving can mend your soul

And it’s the only thing that I know 

I swear it will get easier

Remember that with every piece of ya

And it’s the only thing we take with us when we die.” 

And somehow, despite everything, she let him in. Rendering herself completely in such a way that all of her fears, her insecurities and heartbreak dissipated with one touch. Maybe this boy with curious brown eyes had pieced together the broken parts she’d so intently hidden away. Or could it be he loved her with such conviction that she no longer felt broken in the first place.

He played like her favorite record, the sound of his syncopated breath on her skin; his voice etched into her mind, saying ‘Just kiss me. Just kiss me.’

If she kissed him, she feared she wouldn’t  be able to stop. 

He hesitated, stopping just before his hand reached her rosy complexion. Without a word he let it fall to his side, a mixture of confusion and guilt engulfing the insouciant demeanor she’d grown accustomed to. 

Her eyes searched his; for what she didn’t yet know. 

“You shouldn’t love me.” He said softly.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

And then she saw it.  No, it wasn’t the stars or constellations she’d read about in her books. It was something far deeper. Looking into his eyes she found herself in a black hole; a love so dense no reason or logic could pull her away, no matter how hard the universe tried. 

 I was on the edge, always. I was laughing – much louder and more frequently than anybody else. I burnt out quickly, so that sometimes, halfway through a coffee date, I would have to excuse myself. I didn’t love. My love wasn’t real. My love was a facade to prove that I could love, or that I could be loved in return. I sipped whilst giggling whilst wishing I was somewhere else. Anywhere else.

My happiness was so fragile even the pin prick of a needle would shatter it. My life was a series of earthquakes; knocking the air from my lungs as I tried to grab onto anything sound, anything secure. I never had the strong heart or clear mind needed to weather the storms.

I was on edge, always. Standing on the edge of a great precipice and I wondered if I had the courage to jump. Sometimes I swear I could. I was laughing, much louder and more frequently than anyone else. And often, I wondered if I had any reason to.