Andreea R.

I’ve been hurt so bad and I still love so hard. I admire my heart for that.

“My music will tell you more about me than I ever will.”

Tell me. Tell me how to scrub my skin clean and how to rid my body of every cell you ever touched. Tell me how to cut off all of my hair, every inch of it, and how to smile when people ask me why I did it. It was the end of an era, I say. I needed a change, I say. I was tired of it, I say. They think I’m talking about my hair, but really I am talking about the weight of you. Tell me how to escape the way you press on me in my nightmares and how to conjure up happy memories when my brain cannot function. Tell me how I can somehow recall every word of our last conversation and how I cannot remember the last time I was happy. Tell me how to make lists of the people who make me happy and leave you off it. Tell me how to make lists of the things that make me happy and how to erase all the aspects of my life you have touched. Tell me how to find something, anything, that doesn’t remind me of you. Tell me how to cling to the hope that someone will love me without leaving me in pain.