You open your mouth and spit daggers at me while I stand and cry blood, telling myself that I deserve it.
I thought that—
you fucking liked me.
Hell, I even thought that—
you might have even loved me.
It felt like you did,
seemed like you did,
and looked like you did.
But you didn’t.
Why did you make me feel like
every sweet thing that ever was
is everything you ever gave me—
even though it’s not?
Why did you make me love you so much—
that I can’t even accept the truth,
and I just have to have something to blame
even though it’s my fault?
Maybe I wanted what I thought,
maybe I wanted you to notice me,
maybe I wanted you to like me.
Well, I did.
What I thought was sugar
is actually salt,
and the funny thing is that—
I didn’t even realise it because
I wanted that salt to be sugar.
You used to be brave and confident. You were the sun amongst the clouds that were about to bring rain. You were the spring in every winter. You were the fire matches wanted to have themselves get burned with. You were the one who brought life to a dead world. You were life itself.
But then something happened. I’m not sure what it is, but something definitely happened.
You have become full of fears and insecurities. You have started bringing storms everywhere. You have been summer and spring with winter to curse your everyday. You have stopped clinging onto matches and started burning anything you can burn. You look like the tragedy of life. You have become the dying.
You used to touch things and turn them into gold, not ashes. You used to smile like it was nothing but just another act of breathing, not a way of saying goodbye. You used to dance with chances, not run away from them. You used to wish for another day to live, not for a moment to end all the days that are yet to come.
I am in no position of telling you what you should be, but let me be honest with you. Who you used to be is a better person than who you are now. That person in the past? That person was living. That person was alive. And you? You are just waiting for death. You are just waiting for the ending.
Why have you become like that? I do not know how to help you even though I want to. However, it does not seem like I can help you at all. You are so distant and far away. I feel like if I ever try to do anything for you, you will not notice it. You are blinded by your misery, deafened by your anxiety and numbed by your pain. You have become dangerous to yourself. You have become the person who can bring his own death to himself. You have become your own grim reaper.
The very fact that you are still alive gives me hope.
I want you—the real you—back. I do not believe that you are the person with a time bomb for a heart. I believe that you can still be who you used to be. I believe that you can still live. Every dying person has a chance to be saved. Please, if you cannot save yourself, then let me save you. Let the world save you.