A/N: ... The Twilight Saga of course does not belong to me. Stephenie Meyer owns Edward... and all the rest, too...
I realize it now,
I realize that I have no one.
I have been abandoned again,
Just like before.
You say you hate me,
Despise me,
But what you burning golden gaze says,
It contradicts what your lips are saying.
What are you thinking?
What did I do?
Did I bring this upon myself again?
You tell me that this is better for you and I.
How is this better?
How is this safer?
Is it really better to be in this much pain,
Yet feel so empty?
To have this gaping hole in my chest,
Which become raw every time I merely remember your name?
To have to hold myself together,
So as not to have to fall apart?
To have to wrap my arms around myself,
And bear this constant, unwavering pain?
To have to gasp for a single burning breath,
Even though my lungs are still fine?
You say not to do anything reckless and stupid.
You make me vow not to.
Really.
Now that I look back,
It seems that sometimes you really genuinely cared.
What a cruel illusion.
You promise me that it will be as if you never existed.
You really should have known what a vain, futile promise that was.
This extraordinary pain cannot be for something that has never existed, can it?
So now, here I am,
On the cliff-edge,
Up so high.
The storm raging around me,
And adrenaline rushing through my veins.
I remember your perfect beauty.
Your tawny eyes so passionate.
Your bronze hair in disarray.
Your translucent skin,
Shimmering as if made of a million diamonds,
Creating rainbows every which way.
I know that I am hallucinating.
There you are, in my head,
Telling me in your velvet voice,
Twisted with worry,
"No! Go back home!"
I laugh mirthlessly,
And jump into the turbulent waters,
With a sigh entwined with relief.
You never cared.
I know,
It's very clear.
I understand.