High

I think that when you’re 16, you never think that it’s going to hurt so much, you never- not even once -think that it’ll because you heart wrenching and tranquilizing pain that you won’t be able to pick yourself up from but what the fuck do you know about love till he slams the fucking door on your face? What do you know about love till it makes your fucking lungs collapse and sucks the air right out of you? And so you fall in love you fall in love every second of every day with him you fall and you fall so hard that you fucking scrape your knees and don’t notice they’re bleeding because the boy is a wonderful sight and you’re in love, right? But you notice the bruises and wounds the fall gave you notice them after he’s gone. He leaves you stop washing your hair. You curl up in your bed, under your sheets for so long that they leave imprints on your skin- just like he did. You get drunk- sometimes off the memories and other times off the liquor you bought.

You’ll start destroying yourself because that’s what you do when you’re 16. You’ll smoke here and there even though it’ll make you cough till you feel like your lungs are going to burst- but you do it anyway because anything’s better than him. You’ll cry even though you haven’t cried in months. And you’ll run away so very often, without leaving your goddamn room. Your mother will want to scream at you because she doesn’t recognize who you are anymore but the emptiness on your face and heaviness of your soul will make her eyes a bit teary but you’re not supposed to see your mother cry when you’re like this. It hurts, it hurts so much. But it’s love. Maybe it isn’t love, Maybe it’s something else. Maybe your bones are collapsing. But either way, it fucking hurts. When you’re older, expecting to find the missing pieces of you, on the other side, you’ll fall in love again. A sweeter and nicer man, more of a man but it still won’t be enough. Maybe you’ll get caught up and forget that it’s supposed to hurt. Because love is not supposed to fucking hurt.

But it does anyway and when it does. It’s like you’re 16 all over again. All those memories of those days when you ruined your life over the boy you once loved come rushing back. And this time around, you make no exceptions. You wished that love took you with it when it died instead of leaving you here, grieving and reminiscing it.