You & I~Muke

-Luke-

'she was a coward.'

My nana said, at the funeral, a small tear in her eyes and a bitter tone in her voice.

'selfish.'

Was what my mum said, and I think that's when I began to hate her and everyone in my family.

At that point I realised their religion and themselves was more important than their depressed family members.

I left the funeral at that point; I ran out and my feet took me far away; I don't remember where I went, not in the slightest but I think it's because I had a lot of tears in my eyes and my head was spinning so fast so fast too fast and I guess it was because she was gone.

My sister was dead and only then did it hit me; did it hit me that the only person in my family who loved me slit her wrists and killed herself.

"Luke?" I snap up my head, my thoughts and my life and all the paintings of my past dripping and falling from the walls as I come back to reality.

And oh, doesn't reality suck.

Reality.

How miserable.

"Yes." I reply in a voice merely above a whisper, realising my bacon is cooked and that my breakfast is in front of me,, that I just spent at least seven minutes lost in my own head.

I used to find myself like that, a lot; wandering in the deserts of my mind, completely unaware yet painfully aware of the world and the pain around me and in me.

But that's when I met Michael; and the world blossomed into colour.

I was seeing black and white, and he painted me a clear blue sky; without him I was colour blind, and it was raining every time I opened my eyes.

But he arrived and I was alive again for the first time since my sister wasn't.

And oh, wasn't it lovely.

Suddenly, I had a reason again.

Suddenly, I had something to keep fighting for; a reason to stop the drugs and the drinking and I didn't have to have a cigarette when I was stressed, but instead I talked to my boyfriend who's all I need.

"Are you okay"? asks daryl, and I nod, forcing a smile; as I lift my hand with my fork in it, I realise my fingers are trembling and that food doesn't seem so appealing but I eat it anyways, because I wouldn't want to be rude.

"I'm fine, just tired."

Tired.

Just tired; tired of being sad.

Tired of missing my sister. Tired of hating life. Tired of craving drugs, the warmth of alcohol. Tired of being tired.

There's a long silence that stretches out after my untruthful words, which everyone knows is a lie, as we all eat the food that should be yummy in my mouth.

Why is it not yummy.

This should be delicious, and if I was in a good mood it would be;

I guess I got it the wrong way round today- for some reason I assumed it would be Michael who would be sad, need the looking after, but instead it's me.

And all I can hope s that I can make it through the day without hurting Michael.

-

The leaves under my feet crunch as I let out a puff of smoke from my mouth, the stress fading away with it. Warmth spreads from y chest to my tongue and all I want to do is sleep sleep sleep the day away and not have to go into school tomorrow because who the fuck likes school, right?