The vertical lines that run down his forearms are the most disturbing, thick and jagged as if someone took a razor to his skin. I wish I could run my fingers along them and remove the pain and memories that are attached to them.

You left me, ripped out my heart, and then came back acting like a robot, and you know what? We made it through. You and I, good or bad, belong together. We make each other whole.

People say that time heals all wounds, and maybe they're right. But whit if the wounds don't heal correctly, like when cuts leave behind nasty scars, or when broken bones mend together, but aren't as smooth anymore? Does it mean they're really healed? Or is it that the body did what it could to fix what broke.

You don’t forget. You just move past it. Let go. Be who you were supposed to be instead of who they make you feel like you should be

Once a blooming red rose, full of streaming life in its veins. Now a wilting black petal rupturing with death and pain.

And I don't want you to be anywhere but here

Just because it's broken doesn't mean it loses its importance. And I figured I'd give it to you one day when you realized it was okay to make mistakes.