Imperfect

1: Lost Control

Lost Control by Alan Walker

i don't, i don't,

i don't know who i am

always do the same and i'm to blame

i lost control again

Kayla

<A girl runs, her feet skimming lightly along the ground. She's running from her nightmares, her fears, her broken hopes.

She's not your average girl. Her name is Kayla. Her eyes don't shine with that light, the one that told everything, that made you believe that anything was possible,like every other girl her age. She's 13. The light has been replaced by an endless void, a vortex sucking in every rare bit of hope that she dares harbour. It was gone.

She doesn't believe in happy-ever-afters anymore, not after...

She realised those happy endings that people always talked about were lies, flimsy walls covering the truth, they gave foolish people hope, a purpose in life. Happy endings exist only to make people hopeful, then tear them down again when they realise it doesn't work out. Her brown eyes and perfect smile hide what's imperfect on the inside, deceiving those foolish people she was the same as them, that she belonged. She realised what all of the people around her haven't : that there were really no do-overs.

Her happy ending died with the rest of her family.

She once believed that if she prayed hard enough, everything would be fine again, that broken hearts could mend themselves. So she waited. Prayed so hard, so, so hard. But nothing ever happened.

It hurt so much. That 'fateful' night, the stars shattered, all her fantasies and dreams broken, crushed by the sudden reality of what life actually was ,how meaningless her life would be, no matter what she did. She let go of the girl she had been, to make her own rules in her own world. She built a wall around her not only just to protect herself but also to stop them from being dragged into her broken mind, her shattered heart. It was to hide the truth from them, everything that she had done.

She's realised that it's easy to pretend that nothing ever happened, but not so easy to forget it and move on, or move forward and find a place where she could ever be accepted.

After her dad died, people came up to her in school, in her community. We're so sorry for your loss. But she didn't need to look at them to see that their sympathy was all so fake, just an act put on because they didn't know what to say to that broken girl. All they gave was... pity and prayers or something equally useless that only made her feel worse.

Nothing could have brought him back, anyway. And it was all her fault.

Sometimes, she would look out at the stars, down at the busy highway down below. She wondered why she hadn't burn with the rest of her family. But there was always only one answer. She was keeping it all together for the person who still made life worthwhile for her.

And she's so, so afraid to lose her too.>

I sigh, put down my pen, and shove the notebook deep into a drawer. I would usually rip entries like this to shreds; replace them with hopeful stories. But the truth demands to be released before it consumes me.

No one understands. I say it out loud, hearing it echoing around me in the silence of the night.