Feels like

I've been cut
And I'm watching myself bleed.
Watching myself do nothing to help, do nothing to stem this ache that leaks from the very centre of my being.
Feels like I'm not here. Correction. I am here, but I'm not me-
I'm.
I'm a floater. Standing above me.
Waiting for the glass to break. Waiting for him to stop.
Waiting for him to catch himself.

But he won't. He won't.
"Please," I say softly, "please."
But he won't. He won't because, can't I see that he loves me. Why won't I love him back? Can't I love him enough to not have hurt him, to not have made it such that we ended up here-
As he tries, tries and tries, so desperately to claim what I made him lose.

It's my fault.
I made this happen. I made him like this.
It's my fault.
I didn't love him enough, I couldn't have.
It's my fault. That I'm not here anymore.

That I'm just standing over us-
Waiting, hoping, that something will break so I can hurt.
So I can say to him,
"You did this."

I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait.


Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld
Powered by Gee! from StarHub