This is a SMALL part of a story/novel I have written and re-written for a while now. It is very personal but I think all of us sh, ana, mia - girls can relate to the text somehow.
I remember holding your hand, with dried blood under your finger nails and tears in your eyes. The razorblades were piano keys and they played songs of sorrow on your soft skin. You were only 16 years only a child, a child with shadows deep in the eyes. And that is how I shall remember your eyes not hazel, but black, dark, hollow and black. You were so thin, so small just sixteen with a soul that had lived a lifetime. You did not dare to believe in happiness so you continued to fall because that is the only thing that you were really good at.
You started crying again, and I let you do that.
Grief can be so beautiful at times, in its simplicity. I hugged you and whispered;
- It will not stop here. Not like this. Not now. Not tonight.
You looked back and had you not been crammed with lethal pills you would had answered me that It was nothing that I could do.
I know you that you hate every breath you take, but you are breathing and that is what really matters.