‘Maybe you don’t want to be healed. Maybe you want to be left alone to bleed to death.’
That’s what you text me months ago. Your last text to me. Yes, I still have it. Yes, I still keep it. Yes, I don’t have a courage to delete it, nor reply it. Because I am afraid that you’re right. I am afraid that those are what I want. I am so miserable, you said. I am so pathetic, you said. And those words are true. I put my phone next to me, lying in the bed, thinking about you. I want to kiss you and hug you and hold you and play with your hair and sleep with you and make you laugh and stare at you and play games with you and make you win on purpose and cuddle with you at night and eat breakfast with you and then eat lunch and dinner with you and I want to listen to music with you and cry with you and watch dance videos with you and go to class with you and duel blog with you. I don’t know. I just want to do fucking everything with you.
“I missed everything about her. I missed the way she missed me. I miss the way she cared about me. When she send more message when I reply late and she always ask me “ARE YOU BUSY?” that she didn’t know I am busy because I keep thinking about her and planning for something with her. How she act when we have a phone conversations. How she give me flying kisses. The way she say I love you to me. She’s one of a kind. I missed when she did not eat without my reply. And when midnight comes, I miss when she fall asleep because she don’t want to end our conversation. I missed when I did not sleep til 3 am because I know she’ll wake up and I was expecting her message. And then she call me. I missed the way she call our call sign. When she says she don’t want to stop our conversation even if it looks nothing. I missed her smile. The scent of her hair, it makes me smile. And the way we treat each other when we are together. I missed the place where we first met. I missed everything about her. Now, everything has changed :’(“
I closed my blog. Without publish the story. I just put it on the draft. Waiting and hoping that one day she will come back to me. I pushed her out. I pushed someone that cared for me away. Just because I am afraid of her leaving me, just like he other. I am a loser. She doesn’t deserve me. I took something in my drawer. A little thing that I usually use to ease my pain. A razor blade. It shines, like calling me “come come! I could ease your pain! I could draw your thoughts away! Come!”. I close my eyes and feel the blades in my skin. It’s cold. And then, warm. Let me forget her, I whisper.