September 23, 2013

She swallows her saliva like a lump of coal. She feels closing up and it reminds her of the time she saw her—when she saw her with the same guy again. She can feel tears forming, but she promised herself she wouldn't cry. They all eventually stop, she thinks. Because no one really knows how she really feels—how her heart aches whenever a mere thought of her invades her mind.

Her eyes dully fix themselves onto the screen of her phone. Text messages after text messages appear before her eyes. She remembers the bittersweet memories like a daily activity you can never forget.

But why? Why did this happen?

Why does it have to be her? Why does she still love her? Why, even after all of the drunken lies, does she still want her? Why does she purposely blind herself from the harsh reality when she knows the truth? Why?

She loves her too much to leave even though she knows everything.

But in the depths of her unwanted thoughts, she knows that they eventually all stop. Just. Like. Her.

Everyone is the same, yet no one really notices.

She hides her feelings and makes it seem as though everything is fine. But it's not. Nothing is.

A smile always replaces her quivering lips, but no one really notices. Her twinkling eyes always replace her tearing eyes, but no one really notices. In the end, she doesn't even notice.

Because no one ever does.

And it doesn't really matter.

It never does.

And that's when she decides that her own life doesn't matter. It never did—especially not to her. So when she lets her foot purposely dangle over the ledge, she closes her eyes one last time and prays silently that one day, she will matter. To someone. To anyone.

With one final breath, she prepares herself for the leap.