There are no accusations with writing, no judgment, no shame, only freedom.
So I let my shame own me, kill me, wilt me away into a thousand dead flakes, knowing if I kept it all in, she would never have to learn the dirtiness that was forever inside me--the bad, the ugly, the twisted. She could go on living her life happy, just like she deserved.
I don't believe that. I don't believe that there are bad things about you. Only things that you think are bad.
You've always had a good grasp on what's right and wrong. You just have a hard time admitting that sometimes you choose the wrong.
I just let the pain take over, allowing it to numb the pain of being left behind.
I walk out the door with a heavy feeling in my heart as another secret falls on top of it.
It's what's buried deep inside that frightens me because it's broken, like a shattered mirror.
I take my time because I love how it feels to carry her, the way she needs me, the way I need to protect her.
Seize the day, take hold of it, and make it whatever you want.