She is running down the hall way.
I am screaming for her to stop.
I am lucky my legs are longer, I push her against a wall. It's 3:00 pm, I should've been home by 2. I'll just tell mom I've been trying to heal heart break.
She is a mess. It's a bit cliche- mascara running down her face, hair all over the place, dark and blue bags under her her red eyes.
I look her in the eyes. She has nice eyes, I think. Very pretty, very innocent.
"Why," she croaks out, voice thick and laced with pain, "I just want to ask why. "
I want to scream at her. Tell her that she's been stupid. Tell her that he will never tell her why.
But I don't.
Because once upon a time, I was her. I want to tell her that I know he makes her heart beat really fast and she's on a high when she's with him and god dammit, his smile is the most beautiful thing on this entire fucking planet and his eyes are drugs she can't get enough of and he's funny and he's smart and he's amazing and he's supportive and he's everything she ever wanted.
He's everything that will never love her enough, never love her back, never give her answers.
"I know," I put a gentle hand on her shoulder, "I know, love. Go. You know where to find me."
And then I let her go. Because I know that some lessons are better learned than taught, and that love is one of them.
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Hearts
Poetry"You either get it down on paper or jump off a bridge." - Charles Bukowski Just snippets of stories I can't seem to get out of my head. All cover credit goes to the wonderful @mydearcc
