I have this dream. I’m 7 years old, scribbling bracelets around my wrists to make them pretty. Jake, my 2nd grade lover gives me that smile, we’re going to be forever.
It’s been 20 years. My wrists have bracelets of blood. Jake just left.
Quit acting like you’re the only one who spends their nights awake.
She trusted him the most. Often, fighting the world to prove his lies were the truth. Then one day the cracks appeared. He always said if the glass is broken, it can never be mended completely. She still cries for the lost love. The guilt of not been able to stop her kill him everyday.
"She loved him, undoubtedly. But he loved him too. And he was pretty sure of his sexuality. One way was lifelong happiness of mind but anguish of heart. The other way was a shortcut to apocalypse, where all hell would break loose and he would be damned, forever. Whose was the guilt? His, or their?"