Inspired by Ghosts That We Knew by Mumford & Sons.
You look at it. That mess. The same mess as always. It's ugly. You feel ugly, because what else could you be. The blood runs scarlet and for some reason the very colour of it makes you sick to your stomach. It runs thick and fast. It's a metaphor. A metaphor for all of the emotions you have kept inside for far too long and now they won't stop.
Your palms are outstretched, exposing your pain to the sky. Tears mingle with the blood and it stings. The scarlet begins to dilute and swirl within the salty water and decorate your skin with dancing patterns.
Everything hurts. Nothing matters. The inherent contradiction of everything you're feeling stabs at your chest and breathing becomes difficult. You sob and gasp. You can't see through the tears as they fill your eyes. You bow your head. Defeated.
His hands touch yours. His fingers slide along yours until his palms and yours are touching. You know who it is. You can't look up. You don't want to see the anger. You don't want to see the hurt. You don't want to see the disappointment.
"Why?" His voice is quiet – gentle. The question isn't accusing. It's imploring. You sob and gasp.
"Because I hate myself."
"Why?" He asks again.
"I'm useless." You says through short sharp breaths. "I'm ugly."
His hands slide further towards you. You feel he will try to grab you, shake some sense into you. But he doesn't. His hands keep going until he reaches the hurt. He presses down.
"You're beautiful." The blood begins to seep through his fingers. You look up. His ice blue eyes meet yours. There is a smile playing at the edge of them. He doesn't look at your pain. It's not important. You are what's important. "And you are worth so much more than you could ever realise."
He must be lying. You try to argue. "No one would miss me."
"I would miss you." His eyes. His eyes are so full of caring. He looks sad. Not pitiful, but distressed that you think so little of yourself. He thinks so much of you. He can see what you're worth even when no one else can.
"You would miss me?"
"Yes. You have so much to live for and you are loved."
The tears have stopped. You didn't notice them stop. You sniff. The stinging is subsiding. Your heart doesn't feel so heavy, your chest clearer. He's right. Of course he's right.
"Do you love me?" You ask, your eyes flickering down to his blood stained hands. When you look back to him he's smiling widely.
"Forever."
I have actually forgotten how to use this website, that's how long it's been (sorry!). I hope that this story comforts and if you are ever in that frame of mind, know that I will always have time to talk with you and listen if that's what you need.