#ronoldweasleyy

2/02/14

My pencil broke today.

The electric sharpener does not have batteries.

My father is dead.

I live with the woman who left my father and I to find adventure.

A boy broke me, saying he loved me when he only loved my body.

I am failing English class.

My chest is imploding. My heart is failing. My hands are weak.

I want to rip my chest open and release my soul into the atmosphere and scream.

I want to cry for everything that has happened and everything that will ever happen.

My chest is quaking and my hands shaking. My heart is breaking and my head is spinning.

I feel my skin bleeding and my veins flowing with salt water tears.

I do not know if I will ever recover.

I do not know if I want to recover.

The pain holds a certain type of nostalgia that I can never seem to pinpoint and I can never seem to let go.

The pain shows me that my father was alive and breathed his soul into this world.

It is reminiscent of a time when my mother was only a wisp in my dreams that I could never seem to grasp.

A reminder of the way he used to hold me and whisper things he would never say aloud.