NUMB

ninety four

I was hurt and scared, and numb — but you were devastated.

The pain you've caused me after buried what's really ugly underneath. This rotten throwaway friend that you wanted to kill after you and your family got destroyed, but instead chose to hate.

You've left a ghost to follow me in exchange for your parents' divorce. For your father's accident when he tried to run away. A curse that would remind you of that day. The price I have to pay.

Whore.

I'm not a whore, and I never wanted what happened but it's okay if that helps you cope. It's okay for me to be worthless until you find the worth you've lost.

It hurts, the words you say, the skewed concern and the resentment — but not as much as that day. Not as much as that memory. A memory I have to throw up to remember. A memory that makes me want to reach into myself and cut away the nauseating roots out until there's nothing left to hate, to loathe and destroy.

You didn't listen, and I think you never will, to what really happened. A side of the story you still haven't opened your heart to.

But it's okay. I understand.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I exist even though I'm unwanted. If it weren't for me you would still be happy. If it weren't for me your mom wouldn't be crying everyday, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. If I can undo it all I would.

I'm sorry.

You once said, the day you'd forgive me would be the day you'd start to listen. But I don't know when that day is coming. If it will ever come. I'm sorry that I've grown tired, that I'm finding it harder to get by.

My lips mouthing apologies to your window every night, that will probably never reach you, leave a bitter aftertaste.

I'm still waiting. I'll always be waiting until you can finally hear the last of my cries.