Somewhere in the mountains, you're there in the wind. I see you every once in a while, and I wonder what it feels like to be next to you.
It has been 1,705 days since the last time I felt like I could find a way to be truly happy, once again. Even as the school closes for the cold, even as I hear bells, I wonder where has the time gone to. Spending my weekends alone, spending my weekends finding what love truly is? From these days, I've learnt love is a disgusting thing to be trapped into. Love is taken and may never be given back, but who's fault will that ever be? The love I tend to recieve is not at all what I need. Love is love, love is where angels are made and where Jesus shines the brightest.
There's not enough proper love in my home. God tends to abandon this place, despite all my prayers. I cannot tell you I don't want to make love anymore, that will definently be suspicious. I'm trying to slowly uncover my relationship with God again, and if I suddenly don't want to give into temptation, would you begin to pull away from my love? This relationship is turning into a desperate need for safety and belonging, but I am hoping it will develop into something beautiful—nothing regarding the corrupted love I always seem to bear.
Everyday seems to pass, ignoring time itself. One thousand, seven hundred, and five days, all wasted while I try to figure out if I should have given in when I had that chance. I can't give in now; my room isn't clean, my family would fall further apart, and I feel like I have to go out with a message. These entries are not strong enough to get my point across. Nothing I can put into words may be strong enough.
But, maybe I will live despite everything going on in the world. I know that I am truly just a child, I'm not mature enough to decide if my life is worth living, yet. I have it good, I don't have to worry about a lot of things that adults worry about—except for money. I worry chronically about money that I don't even earn. But, again, I am a child. I'm constantly worrying about my future in this country. Have you seen the price of living in America, reader? I hope you're just as scared as I am. People online are yelling at each other—"you should be more mad". I'm mad, but I'm even more scared. Hell has already risen.
I'm just a child, so why do I feel so old? Living has become a chore, I'm constantly cleaning up after my emotions. I have no one I can talk to about this. I can't trust anyone in my home, my friends are untrustworthy with the topics, the adults are just going to tell my parents, and hotlines never helped me. I've contacted many suicide hotlines throughout the years, even before my first attempt. Nothing, nothing at all. Comfort doesn't exist in my heart. I'm pure evil.
I'll love you like never before. I'll make you gifts that resenate with you, I'll cry on your shoulder, I'll hold you when you're hurt. I'll listen when you need someone to listen, I'll give you advice when you want someone to give advice. I'll run around with you next to flowers, I'll make you laugh, I'll tease you. I'll hold the door for you, I'll gently kiss your tears away then tell you; everything will be okay. It will always be okay for you. Then, I'll dissappear. I'll leave a note, or I won't at all, all because I've hurt a little for more than you can ever imagine. I will hurt you like never before, and my actions will resenate with you for over a thousand days.
Now, the sun will rise, and I will only hope that a day will come—a day where I realize I will be okay.
These days will come to an end, no matter what action you watch me take.