When my wrists are wrapped in cocoons of gauze (as they are now) I will think of you. You too always floundered under the razorblades invitation, but begged me not to as if saving me would somehow pay back all the debts you owed in this world. Maybe you wanted to keep my eyes clear blue instead of ink black the way peoples become after seeing a lot of pain, like the veterans from the Vietnam war, and cancer survivors and most doctors. Like yours. You had seen more than your fair share of hurt yet you still had love in you and you gave me all you could, even if you weren't the one holding me in tangles of sweat soaked sheets, or pressing your mouth against mine, you loved me more than any of those boys combined. It was a different kind of love than theirs, this was the kind that I could trap inside my cupped palms and feel as the warmth spread to my hollowed bones. It was the kind that kept me safe all the times I went to the medicine cabinet looking for an ultimatum. You hated the boys who coaxed me into their beds and kissed me with greedy anticipation. You said that they were unworthy of me, but I never believed you because I thought I was invincible, I thought that I always had the upper hand.

I have all your letters and notes in an envelope on my dresser, I read them sometimes when I'm feeling down to remember that there was a boy who would have loved me with his whole heart given the chance. The lead is starting to smudge in the creases from the unfolding and refolding. The paper is becoming soft and torn from the tears I try so hard to keep behind my eyelids but fall unsteadily everytime I read your words. My hands always shake as I touch the necklace you gave me, the one that had meant so much to you and you told me that it would keep me safe even when you couldn't. I wear it some days, and it hangs underneath my shirt in between my breasts, a reminder that you still exist somewhere in this world even if you aren't with me. I wish I'd gotten a chance to know what you would have felt like up against me under the sheets. Even though you never slept in my bed I can still feel your imprint beside me as if you never left. I know you wouldn't have touched me if I asked you not to, you would have just pressed your lips to my burning forehead and calmed the fever that made me sick inside. You would have held my clammy palms in yours as I twisted and moaned, delirious and scared to death of the memories infecting my dreams.

I never gave you a chance to be my knight in shining armor. I tossed you away again and again, and then only came around when the other boys were out drinking or getting high and I craved some real intellect, someone who would actually ask “how are you feeling?” And you were always there, ready with words of reason, and a fall back plan and the familiarity I loved. How could I ever truly leave you? You were my home. No matter what I always came back, I wouldn't have abandoned you…

You slipped through my fingers and were swept out by the tide. It was my indifference, my detachment and most of all my unwillingness that urged you away. You knew that I wasn't ready for you, and that even though you loved me, you couldn't talk me out of this box I'd put myself in. Almost immediately I could feel your departure tugging at my heartstrings, and I bled for days because you weren't here to tell me not to. I missed your hands on my waist, your arms wrapped firmly around me and your fingers interlocked as though you would never let me go. I felt like an airplane with two failed engines, plummeting downwards. I felt deprived of oxygen, I felt myself withering.

The boys I was left with hungrily devored me in my vulnerable state. I cried only when I walked home in the dark from their houses and no one but the streetlights could see my tears falling on the pavement leaving no permanent stain, no mark that they were ever really there. Black eyeliner hid my swollen eyes and long sleeves hid the very habit you tried so hard to break. I didn't care anymore when the boys undressed me and stared at my wounds. They didn't care either, as long as I put out. And all I could think was, “You would never have let anyone do this to me.”

But you are gone. And I've accepted that. I swear if you saw me now you wouldn't recognize me. My eyes are the color of ink, just like yours were so long ago.

When my wrists are wrapped in cocoons of gauze (as they are now) I will think of you. You too always floundered under the razorblades invitation, but begged me not to as if saving me would somehow pay back all the debts you owed in this world. Maybe you wanted to keep my eyes clear blue instead of ink black the way peoples become after seeing a lot of pain, like the veterans from the Vietnam war, and cancer survivors and most doctors. Like yours. You had seen more than your fair share of hurt yet you still had love in you and you gave me all you could, even if you weren't the one holding me in tangles of sweat soaked sheets, or pressing your mouth against mine, you loved me more than any of those boys combined. It was a different kind of love than theirs, this was the kind that I could trap inside my cupped palms and feel as the warmth spread to my hollowed bones. It was the kind that kept me safe all the times I went to the medicine cabinet looking for an ultimatum. You hated the boys who coaxed me into their beds and kissed me with greedy anticipation. You said that they were unworthy of me, but I never believed you because I thought I was invincible, I thought that I always had the upper hand.

I have all your letters and notes in an envelope on my dresser, I read them sometimes when I'm feeling down to remember that there was a boy who would have loved me with his whole heart given the chance. The lead is starting to smudge in the creases from the unfolding and refolding. The paper is becoming soft and torn from the tears I try so hard to keep behind my eyelids but fall unsteadily everytime I read your words. My hands always shake as I touch the necklace you gave me, the one that had meant so much to you and you told me that it would keep me safe even when you couldn't. I wear it some days, and it hangs underneath my shirt in between my breasts, a reminder that you still exist somewhere in this world even if you aren't with me. I wish I'd gotten a chance to know what you would have felt like up against me under the sheets. Even though you never slept in my bed I can still feel your imprint beside me as if you never left. I know you wouldn't have touched me if I asked you not to, you would have just pressed your lips to my burning forehead and calmed the fever that made me sick inside. You would have held my clammy palms in yours as I twisted and moaned, delirious and scared to death of the memories infecting my dreams.

I never gave you a chance to be my knight in shining armor. I tossed you away again and again, and then only came around when the other boys were out drinking or getting high and I craved some real intellect, someone who would actually ask “how are you feeling?” And you were always there, ready with words of reason, and a fall back plan and the familiarity I loved. How could I ever truly leave you? You were my home. No matter what I always came back, I wouldn't have abandoned you…

You slipped through my fingers and were swept out by the tide. It was my indifference, my detachment and most of all my unwillingness that urged you away. You knew that I wasn't ready for you, and that even though you loved me, you couldn't talk me out of this box I'd put myself in. Almost immediately I could feel your departure tugging at my heartstrings, and I bled for days because you weren't here to tell me not to. I missed your hands on my waist, your arms wrapped firmly around me and your fingers interlocked as though you would never let me go. I felt like an airplane with two failed engines, plummeting downwards. I felt deprived of oxygen, I felt myself withering.

The boys I was left with hungrily devored me in my vulnerable state. I cried only when I walked home in the dark from their houses and no one but the streetlights could see my tears falling on the pavement leaving no permanent stain, no mark that they were ever really there. Black eyeliner hid my swollen eyes and long sleeves hid the very habit you tried so hard to break. I didn't care anymore when the boys undressed me and stared at my wounds. They didn't care either, as long as I put out. And all I could think was, “You would never have let anyone do this to me.”

But you are gone. And I've accepted that. I swear if you saw me now you wouldn't recognize me. My eyes are the color of ink, just like yours were so long ago.