The words slip away, vanishing--fading--eaten up by time, by pain, by the thousand things I cannot say. Not that anyone would really care to hear them. I’ve cut the cords of my own throat, cut the song out of my voice. I’ve become so hard people don’t see me.
I want to run away to a field where I can grow a hundreds of flowers, away from mirrors or people, away from everything that reminds me how I’m just not good enough. I want to be soft again. Sweet, like I use to be before all this pain came sweeping in. But being sweet gets you hurt, gets you shattered. I am so tired of the way people are to me. So tired of pain, especially from those who’ve know what I’ve been through and what I am dealing with.
I use to be beautiful.
I use to matter.
I use to be... something.
Now I am transparent.
You are cruel to me and I haven’t done anything to you. Why can’t you just let me hurt? Why can’t you be kind? Why do you have to hurt me anymore than I already do?
It’s like you enjoy it, because you know I can’t cry, so you will never see just how much harm you are doing to me.
Just let me be.
Why can’t you just let me be?
When will it be enough? When will my quota for suffering be filled?
It’s hard enough knowing that I am abandoned here. It’s hard enough knowing he’ll never come.
If I could be who I was, if I could turn back the clock and erase it all, I would, God, I would give it all up. I would run away and live by the sea. I would weave flowers in my hair and sing sweet songs to the wind and never think about love.
If only I could rewind. Live by starlight and watch the moon dance across the waves. I could climb stones and watch the tide pools, scrape mussels from rocks and weave nets and watch my hair turn grey.
In loneliness, I could be free.
But there are no Lethe waters here.
So I remain.