All the things I did wrong:
I: I relied on someone for my happiness.
II: I love people more than I love myself.
III: I never asked for help.
IV: I asked for help.
V: I opened up.
VI: I had hope."
I was fighting myself.
I: Fighting to not crawl into his bed at 3 am just because he said he missed me. He only missed the way my knee bucked and my back arched when we touched. And he only missed the way my tongue clucked when we fucked.
II: Fighting to not pick up that silver metal and hurt myself the way everyone hurt me. They way my mother hurt me unconsciously when she decided adoption was the right choice. The way he hurt me when he kept going after I said stop. The way life hurt me when I begged for death and it never came.
III: Fighting to keep my meal in me and not flush it away. The way my mother probably wanted to flush me away. The way I keep trying to throw away these memories of us."
Your sheets smell like vanilla.
Your clothes always reeked of the cigars your dad smoked. You inherited your mothers glassy eyes. You flinch every time someone mentions your brother and I know you blame yourself for that night.
When we first met your left eye was swollen shut and your heart didn’t beat. When we first met you said commitment just wasn’t your thing because who has time to be tied down to one person. But I remember that night you cried in my lap and begged me to not go home. I remember falling asleep tangled in those vanilla scented sheets and I couldn’t help but memorize the way your heart beat."