I can't stop staring...

...and then you look at me with those beautiful eyes.

I know that i told you it was over. I know I said that i'd never (probably never, but then again never is a long time and i can't live that long) take you back. I know that I said that I wouldn't care about you anymore.
...But it's hard.

It's heart-wrenchingly hard to believe in anything i've said anymore. I don't know why you still dominate such a big part of my heart. It's painful to think about it--it hurts. My head hurts, my body hurts, my heart hurts, i'm breaking apart right in front of your eyes and you still can't see me...

--

And everything is a blur.

I stare at you with my vision all running colors and shaky images and struggle to capture those fleeting moments of you that are crystal clear. Thoughts and memories and things left unsaid surge with every minute detail of you I drink in.

It's fuckin' mental torture.

And when I've realized I'm wrong, when everything I accused you for may have just been a goddamn stupid mistake on my part itself, it's too late.

Noone should prolong suffering like this.

It would be selfish of me to hold you back.

But I don't know why, there's that mark that you've left on me, that mark that aches every time I think back, I look back, I recall the sights and sounds and scents and caresses-

-You smelt of blood orange and I smelt of green apples.

It hurts...my head hurts, my scars hurt, my heart's been abandoned in a space, shattered like little pieces of bright red glass.

-

Maybe I never deserved you.

Gripping my red-glass-heart in my hands that so easily grow cold, the force from my shaking fingers cause blooming hairline fractures across the shiny surface.

Maybe she's better than I could ever have been.

The force of my icy fingers press onto the fragile object, and splinters fall with a quiet ~plink~ as they hit the ground.

I am the millstone around your neck that stops you from moving forward.

A finger punches through the hollow glass heart, where the jagged edges trace ribbons of red across skin and raw flesh.

And in the end I'm just an insignificant being lost in a sea of emotion.

Lies and truth are indistinguishable and maybe even the same.

Where every part of my being feels lacerated and scarred and tender to the touch.

I recoil to touch, such a contrast to when I longed for and embraced tender caresses.

Trust is difficult. Everybody lies.

Whether to save themselves or to save others..or to 'save' others..

I stare at you, all shaky images and running colors.