I hate them.
I know I sound harsh and intolerant. Good. I guess that's my message.
I heard someone say once that what they do is a cry for help. That's such bull. How can you cry for help if you have nothing for people to help you with? I know sadness. I've seen it firsthand. Them...they have nothing to mourn, nothing to be sad about. Now her...she felt sadness.
She was so...so...broken. What she felt goes beyond black eyliner and chains on your pants. Beyond spiky hair and "cut" wrists. It's a sadness so great, so magnificent and crushing that I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like.
Don't think I haven't tried. I've tried to bend my mind around this concept, I've tried to put myself in her shoes...but I just can't.
I remember the day she wrote a poem for our English project. I always knew she liked writing, but when she stood at the front of the room and cleared her throat, I don't know what I had expected. Something...well, something very different then what she wrote. When she stood up there, reading the words on her paper, I knew, I just knew that those words weren't ones that she just pulled out of the air and wrote on the paper because they sounded poetic. No, they were words from the heart. I felt that the floor and the classroom were both a million miles away, and all that existed were me, and her, and those blue, blue eyes.
She wrote about how ever since her father left, the world had turned much too slowly. How she wanted to jump out of her skin and burst through the slow motion atmosphere. She always felt like she would scream, like at any second she would just explode.
She didn't feel lost, or lonely, just...desperate, I guess.
But did she cut her wrists? Did she dress in all black? Did she wear heavy makeup and six different piercings? No. But she did wear a weary expression, a darkened raincloud, and peircing blue eyes that spoke of a pain beyond her years.
Maybe that's why she just collapsed. Maybe that's why she just couldn't take it anymore. Maybe that's why she just gave up.
Maybe that's why she left me.
Don't own Life With Derek. Duh. Please review...this was based off of a monologue I was going to do about some random girl at acting class, then I decided I'd make it work for lwd.