I can’t explain this, nor do I have the right to.  It’s a slip from reality into the pits of darkness that are ever brewing within myself.  It’s flushed cheeks and shimmering green eyes and laughter yet unmatched.  It was an escape from myself, from the most horrifying regions of my psyche and you bravely reached your hand under the tumultuous waves to save me from myself.

I gripped tightly because it felt right, it felt safe, it felt like home for the first time within a lover’s gaze.  But it was deeper than that.  You quickly became one of my deepest and dearest friends.  You sat there as I cried assuring me that everything would be fine, but we existed in an alternate reality.  This plain was so far from the cement my feet were grounded upon that I couldn’t soar high enough to plant myself by your side.

It’s difficult to exist in three worlds; the world with you, the world with them and the deadly world inside my head.  There is something deeply wrong with me and I believe it will never be healed.  There are wounds so deep from the life I’ve lived that I can’t simply shut my eyes to it.  There are ghosts in my soul that will never find peace because they scream of the pain and refuse to repeat it.

You don’t need to hear it, or maybe you do, but I’m sorry you got caught up in the wasteland I’ve become.

I feel as though I’m nothing but holes and when the wind blows I’m sure I’ll never be whole.  I keep losing fragments of myself, each with its own story to tell, and I’m not rebuilding or fortifying to keep myself strong.  I grow weaker every day as my insides decay without love, without touch, without a solace to behold.

You were that solace.

Now I simply picture a woman sitting on the porch of the house she longed for.  A new city, a new life, but all her hopes and dreams have died as she watches another sunset completely alone.

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    Why would I write something when someone already did it for me? This. Exactly this.

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