The ceiling spins. The walls pulse. Its smells like freshly cut grass and must. Tears fall melodically down my cheekbones and pool on the blue rug, the same one my hands are clutching. My knuckles feel white.
My chest might explode, I cant handle this. I change my mind, but its too late. I hate this. All my breath is caught in my throat, imprisoned. Tortured. Im heavy. My limbs immovable. Cemented. I dont deserve to stand. It hurts.
A bluish burn dances on my skin. Everywhere. Searing. Mocking.
I feel nothing. And too much. Im scared. Im sorry. Im selfish. Im here now. No matter what.
We could have been great. We could have been everything. But you'll never know.
I turn my head and see the clock on the wall saying its barely started. I turn my head again, this time, landing my cheek in one of the warm pools of graying tears. My gaze falls on the blue knob of the dresser and stays there as I wait for this to end. For the pain, this feeling to go away.
Its been three years today. Im still waiting.