Confessions of a Broken Heart

I do read it, and it does matter to me. I read it all.


What Makes Someone Brave?

I believe it's doing what you think is right, no matter how much you hate doing it. And I hate doing it...

I've been wondering over the past day-and-a-half if I'm some kind of masochist. I sit by and watch the pain that I've caused others unfold before me, reading every letter of every word of every sentence at least twice. It kills me. It kills me to think that I did this, that I made a decision that hurt someone that I care for probably more than I care for myself. Maybe that's the point of it all. I don't like it though. I don't like seeing her this way. She deserves better, she deserves all the love in the world. She deserves to be happy, and light, and love herself. Over the years, I've caused trouble and pain for someone who didn't deserve any of it. I can only blame myself for the problems that stemmed from my own faults.

I tried. I really did. I wish I was able to do more. Anything that I could do, or allow myself to do, I did, just to see a flicker of a smile on her face. Sometimes it was there, lots of times, it wasn't. If I could have collected every single tear over the past 5 years that she shed, I'd put them in a crystal vial and look at them every single day as a reminder that I screwed up. I screwed up big. I don't want to keep screwing up, but I won't forgive myself for making her cry even once. She deserved better than that, and she deserves better for herself now.