You found me lost and made me yours. Shed your light through the cracks of my heart. Built me a home in your arms and made me yours.

You’re my home and I don’t know what I’m without you. Take you out of my life and I don’t know who I am. That’s frustrating because every time you make me want to fucking leave I don’t know where the fuck to go or which way to go. Where the fuck do I go away from you when you’re all I know. When you protected me from myself how do I trust myself anymore.

This time it’s different. I feel more numb than hurt. More angry even. It’s like the half second laughing gas effect. Everything goes really quiet in your head and you hear your own heartbeat. Just when that gets too lousy you’re chased back to reality.

How could I not be angry. I lived up to the person I thought I could never be. Only to find out what I’d have rather not known.

Anger lingering in blood spilled wounds. Each one, a reminder of a time the world made it impossible to fight. Each bruise a reminder of a time darkness felt eternal.

Everyone gets through though. We all do. Some barely make it. Others are dead inside by the time they make it. They do though. Because they have to.

For some, brave are the people who set themselves free knowing the world will never be the same again. For others brave are the ones who accept life as it is without pining for what’s not there. Realists show the most courage as they take on the world by what is is, than for what it could be.

I used to be terrified of remembering too much. I wanted to jot down every single memory in my head so one day I could look back at them and go, oh. But that turned out to be one of the worst things I could’ve done. I remembered far too much for far too long. Held onto a bunch of memories like they were my reality. Everything I remembered felt more real than what actually kept happening. Because I only remembered what I chose to remember.
Now I know though, anybody could’ve given memories. But no one would remember as much as I do, did. It terrifies me, memories are all I have. No truth to it. Long invalid memories. This feels like another ending, because these memories will never last. I’m starting to forget. I’m starting to forget the best days of my life. I’m afraid.