Guilt was slowly eating away at my insides.
Somehow I had managed to convince myself that if it hadn't been for this, he never would have talked to me.
So all the closeness that had formed between us, that special bond was not meant to exist. Back on the downward spiral.
Once you are on this spiral, it's impossible to get off of it, because gravity, of course, pulls downward.
So all these pessimistic thoughts were just jolts of reality, little waves of gravity pulling me back from my dream world, back to real life, back down to earth.
An endless merry-go-round, but without the merry.
So I ended up feeling stupid for ever having believed we could be more than friends.
However, he slowly changed my mind about this.
He started initiating conversations, planning ways to meet me more times than necessary.
He would formulate ways to study together, and I would agree, only to find that he already knew all the material.
My life hit a high point when, in fifth year, we were both chosen as prefects, I from Ravenclaw, and he from Gryffindor.
Therefore, we were assigned to patrol together.
We had many meaningful conversations during our long walks down corridors.
In fact, we were so absorbed in our conversations that I doubt we would have noticed if anything had gone wrong, things we were supposed to be keeping an eye out for.
After all, we were patrols.
We talked mostly about our similarities and differences.
I was curious as to why he cut, and he was curious as to why I did.
He told me he was tired of himself, tired of putting on a show every day, of letting people think he was happy.
And he, like me, was afraid to kill himself, so he just went halfway.
Compromises.
Life is compromise. Life is pain.
Broken promises and shattered hopes are common, and those who "live in the moment" are living in a dream world.
Those who always look at the bright side are telling themselves lies.
For every bright side, there is a dark side. Yin and yang.
Another thing we discussed constantly was the blackness of life, the darkness of living.
The torture of knowing that living is a constant uphill climb, yet the only thing that meets you when you finally reach the top is death.
Ironic, that it is some kind of reward, some achievement.
That the ending of some sort of test that is given to everyone is death, and that is somehow a good thing.
And yet we are given the power to end the trial ourselves, so why not?
Because we have some kind of human nature to just grin and bear it, pretend to be stronger than we actually are.
We are weak, cowardly, if we cannot deal with what has been given to us.
Yet these are societies standards, we have trapped ourselves with this thinking.
So let them think of me as a coward, if they wish to.
Let them laugh after my eyes close about how weak I was.
Weak, they call me.
But it is I, not they, that has the strength to deal with the pain that comes from running a knife repeatedly down my arm.
It is I how is finally summoning up the courage to end my suffering.
It is I who is strong enough not to care myself.
It is I who is strong enough to challenge life's routine.
It is I who is strong enough to convince myself that this is strength.
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A/N well, there you go, after a looong time. sorry about that, i'm having internet difficulties. PLEASE REVIEW, be good to me!
rapunzel.in.black