incapable de l'amour. [Austin Carlile]

In French, you don't really say, "I miss you." You say "Tu me manques," which is closer to "You are missing from me."

I love that. "You are missing from me." You are a part of me, you are essential to my being. You are like a limb, or an organ, or blood. I cannot function without you.

Je t'aime, darling. Vous êtes tout pour moi, mais vous êtes pas le mien. Je suis tellement désolé. J'espère que vous souvenez de moi en fin de compte. Parce qu'en réalité je ne suis pas et ne sera jamais assez bon pour vous. Vous êtes tout simplement trop merveilleux. Je suis coincé ici, je me demandais où tout allait mal et en espérant que vous ne pouvez pas voir le sourire faux.

I love you, darling. You're everything to me, but you're not mine. I'm so sorry. I hope you remember me in the end. Because in reality, I'm not, and will never be good enough for you. You're just too wonderful. I'm stuck here, wondering where it all went wrong, and hoping that you can't see the fake smile.

<3

~~~~~~~~~

I cringe as she yells, her long fingers running worriedly through her blonde hair. Her bright eyes are even wilder as she speaks, her green irises interweaving with small amounts of blue. She's upset. She's really upset with me right now.

But she has the right to be, she has every right to be. I hadn't meant to do it, I hadn't meant to relapse. I hadn't meant to screw up. And I know if I keep doing this, she'll give up on me, and I can't have that. I have no one, I can't lose my best friend too.

She sighs heavily and sharply as her fingers run through her hair again. She's trying to calm down, and I appreciate that, but I don't mind if she yells. I need it. She bites her lip, looking at me sadly.

"Why... Why did you do this?" she asks, her voice beginning to be raspy from all the screaming she's done lately towards me. I bit my own lip in response, looking down at my hands that are now shaking.

I can't answer right away. I bite my lip harder, almost to the point where I feel like it's bleeding. I'm shaking even harder, a side effect of the terrible anxiety I'd acquired. I almost can't control it now; I can't control anything.

She gives me my space, sighing and watching me for a second. I feel terrible putting her through this whenever I get upset over little things like this. But I can't help it anymore. Everything reminds me of him.

I miss him so badly. I miss his soft dark hair and his bright blue eyes. His snakebites and large gauges he'd accumulated in size over the years. But it was all just a memory now. He was a ghost. He was the past now.

No matter how much I'd loved him, nothing could've saved him in the end. He'd been so sick. I knew he was sick but I'd wished that if I hoped enough and prayed enough, he'd be okay.

But I was let down. Like always I'd put so much faith in someone I didn't even know existed, but I'd trusted. I'm so naive about these things sometimes, and I never get a hold on what reality is sometimes. Such is my downfall and my burden.

I swallow, my hands shaking even fiercer now. She sighs, and I see she passes her hand through her long hair, her eyes dimming as she calms down. I know she wants to scream and yell at me, but she can't. I know she's close to being done with me. But I don't want that. I can't have that.

"Je m'ennuie de lui..." I mumble inaudibly in French, closing my hands. My palms are rough and my arms are pale and tight, as if I haven't moved them in a long time. But that's how I feel.

When he died, I felt like something inside of me did as well, like he took a part of me away when they buried him. I've changed so much since then, I know. I'm not as happy or as cheerful. But I try my best for her, my best friend, and for my family, even though they know how sick I feel all the time.