✧ * 𝐒 𝐭 𝐚 𝐫 𝐥 𝐢 𝐠 𝐡 𝐭 *✧

¹

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:27 ───ㅇ───── 4:13

"𝐖𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞"

TW: cutting/abuse

Hallie

"Daddy!" I yelled with pure joy, my voice ringing out in our cozy living room.

 "Hallie!" he responded, mirroring my excitement with a wide smile. 

"Play 'Starlight'!" I bubbled over with glee, knowing this was our special song.

"Okay, princess," he chuckled, tapping away on his phone to bring the familiar melody to life. As the music filled the room, wrapping me in its sweet embrace, I couldn't help but sing along to the lyrics that I knew by heart. The beat was infectious, and I found myself leaping and twirling without a care in the world, after all, I was just a carefree five-year-old. 

I said oh my, what a marvolous tune

My dad swung me around, his eyes sparkling with a mix of love and pride as I giggled uncontrollably. Setting me down gently, I spun in circles in my flowing princess skirt, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world to have such a wonderful dad. His passion for music, especially Taylor Swift, had shaped my young heart, and sharing these moments of pure joy with him meant everything to me. In his eyes, I saw an abundance of happiness, affection, and unwavering support, making me want to freeze time and bask in this father-daughter bond forever. Daddy was not only my hero but also my best friend, and in that moment, all was right in my little world.

But we were dancing, dancing, like we're made of startligh, starlight...

June 28th, 2019

I pause the video. A rush of emotions overwhelms me as I find myself consumed by the absence of my dad. Tears uncontrollably cascade down my face. Despite my inner turmoil, my mom's recent outburst still echoes in my mind, accusing me of selfishness, according to her, I make everything about me. Confusion sets in, do I make it all about me? Placing my phone beside me, I instinctively draw my knees closer to my chest, feeling the fabric of my pants absorb the salty tears the fall from my cheecks. The bathroom floor, as icy as my mother's heart, offers me little comfort.

I place my palms against the cold tiles besides me, standing up. Opening the cabinet, I retrieve my blade carefully hidden beneath the cup that holds my toothbrush. The act of cutting, once a terrifying concept, now acts as a source of comfort. The physical pain drowns out the overwhelming mental pain, it's a temporary escape. With each cut, I am reminded that no amount of self-harm can compare to the pain of losing my dad. Sliding down the wall, I curl back into myself, tucking into my knees.