Loss
I want to scream and rage about. I want to throw things at the walls, tear up the faces leering down at me. I want beat my head against the wall, pound my fists at it until they bleed, or the wall comes down. I want to pull apart the furniture, use one piece to dismember the rest violently. I want to scream abuse and hurl insults at some deserving target. Maybe I even want them to scream at me as well. I want to die.
I swear I used to be happy. I remember before, I wasn't happy, I didn't know it though, and so I was content.
Now I am unhappy though.
I feel the great darkness inside my heart. Something is missing that was always there before. Was it that person? The one the others ask about?
I don't remember. All I remember is that I know what happiness is, and that I don't have it anymore.
There are pictures in my sketchbook, photos on the mantle. I think that's the person the others ask about.
I don't understand it though.
If we were happy, why did they leave? Did they leave?
…
Did I leave?
…
I lie on my bed impotently. The feeling of uselessness causing me to breath lightly, even while my chest clenches tight with anxiety and I shiver from the exertion of restraining myself. I do not need my parents to lecture me again… threaten me with… Happy Camp…
Eventually the effort exhausts me. I am not fulfilled. I am cold inside, lonely like never before.
Please, come back to me; whoever you were. Whatever we had, I need it back.
Vlad…
