so who's selfish, and who's sorry?

I'm on the verge of slashing myself up all over the place. As it's been for a few days now.

It's not that I didn't mostly know this was the way things are. It's just that without your words spelling the definite end of all my imaginings I was still able to hope, a little bit, sometimes, when the lights were off. When I was feeling very bad.

Because, quite frankly, it was much easier to believe in a fake, false hope than is has been to face the dreadful facts. Ones I can't even quite bring myself to think since Thursday night, 'cause I can't handle and don't want the utter agony they bring to my soul.

No more watermelon dress, no more late afternoon sun on hardwood floors, no more nine to five, no more tattoos, no more world's-rightest sex, no more leaning on shoulders, no more remembering, no more soul understanding...

No more coming home. Ever.
I can't do it, I can't do it.