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Description
A thousand ashes scattered through the sky is the only proof that what I had ever existed. The emptiness in my chest; the only evidence of my once living heart.

I've burned away all that remained of my past love, though I cannot restart my pulse.

Looking back I know that all I ever had was teenage angst entangled with hormones. My conclusion made clear by the fact that true love could not hurt this badly. I was young and naïve. Way over my head in shark infested waters. New to the world of romance; I didn't know how to swim. It's a wonder that I survived...

Or Did I survive?

And what is true love really like? The only representation I have is a psychological character in my head that will forgive me as soon as I ask it of him. I have not yet found any other source of such purity on this suicidal planet.

The answer to the forgotten question is this: I did not survive my love story. In-fact, I was dead before I reached the end. Pieces of me were swept away by her witch-like hand as I clung to her like a bitch to its master. I was her doll, only there to do as she commanded. Much like a plastic figurine I now lack one necessity to life, a heart to cherish. I feel nothing and am nothing to society. I am invisible and emotionless in my dying days. My only hope of eternal peace being that one day God will show mercy and sweep me away off the face of the earth.

Will I then know where I belong? So many questions, and a life time to suffer through them. I just want to know why I'm here at all.

Description
A thousand ashes scattered through the sky is the only proof that what I had ever existed. The emptiness in my chest; the only evidence of my once living heart.

I've burned away all that remained of my past love, though I cannot restart my pulse.

Looking back I know that all I ever had was teenage angst entangled with hormones. My conclusion made clear by the fact that true love could not hurt this badly. I was young and naïve. Way over my head in shark infested waters. New to the world of romance; I didn't know how to swim. It's a wonder that I survived...

Or Did I survive?

And what is true love really like? The only representation I have is a psychological character in my head that will forgive me as soon as I ask it of him. I have not yet found any other source of such purity on this suicidal planet.

The answer to the forgotten question is this: I did not survive my love story. In-fact, I was dead before I reached the end. Pieces of me were swept away by her witch-like hand as I clung to her like a bitch to its master. I was her doll, only there to do as she commanded. Much like a plastic figurine I now lack one necessity to life, a heart to cherish. I feel nothing and am nothing to society. I am invisible and emotionless in my dying days. My only hope of eternal peace being that one day God will show mercy and sweep me away off the face of the earth.

Will I then know where I belong? So many questions, and a life time to suffer through them. I just want to know why I'm here at all.