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Why Me? Here is a safe space to let it all out, where you can rant about all the bad things life throws your way. Sometimes it just helps to ask "why me?"

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*Rainbow*Rider* Offline
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Name: H
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Location: England

Posts: 1,921
Blog Entries: 124
Join Date: January 25th 2009

Letters to ghosts - August 13th 2010, 09:15 PM

I haven't written to you in a while. I haven't.... It hasn't been hurting this much for a while. It comes and goes.

Its not that I don't miss you or love you. Its because I figured out if I didn't find a way to push you to the back of my thoughts, just for a while, I would break. I couldn't go on like that. Its means of survival babes. The pain...it ripped me apart. Every breath, every step, every mention of your name or a flash of ginger hair and I felt my knees go weak, my walls falling down. I'm a stubborn person. I couldn't let that go.

I didn't know what to do. I know you can hear me but I had to write it down. I can't put it on my blog because people would see, not that I'm ashamed of you, and I don't really keep a diary any more. Maybe I should. I don't know. So here it is. Another letter to you, lost in the internet in one of the many forums and posts and everything else.

I trust them here, with you, with your memory.

I was listening to 'for blue skies' by strays don't sleep and it broke me down. I was walking home with tears in my eyes. Loads of cars went by through the darkness and I smelt a waft of something. A waft that smelt like home, like safety and memories and a silent power I think bubbles underneath all of us. It reminded me of you.

I still want to know what happened. We've pieced together the physical part, which bones broke first, what angle it hit you at, how far you went flying, how long you lay in the water before they found you. But I just. I want to know what happened. Your last thought, the last thing you saw and smelt, the last breeze that blew through your hair. Your last sound. I prey to god you didn't hear the car. That you didn't feel that rush of panic or dread. I hope you knew nothing about it. I want to know what happened.

She won't tell me the outcome of the inquest. I think she thinks she's protecting me, or perhaps she just doesn't want to let you go. If she tells you then she's sharing something only she knows about you. She's clinging on to dear life for you.

She won't scatter your ashes. It breaks my heart. You stuffed in that box. You'd want to be free. Dancing on the wind. You'd be part of every tree that grew and every animal that ate off the ground. You'd be part of the world, your beauty would shine through everything. You'd be free. I just want to scream at her and grab the basket, scatter you everywhere but I know she'd never speak to me again and I can't cope with that. She's my mum. She's my mum.

She's not really my mother, you know that. Just like you weren't really my brother, but it fucking felt like it ya know?

When it first happened I wanted to hit the world, scream at it. Just like I would have hit and screamed at the bullies in the play ground if they ever hurt you. But I had no one to blame, and it was too late. I couldn't pull you in and tell you its okay.

I held on to you in the hospital. You where still warm when I got there. I felt you go cold. I think that helped me a lot. Some days I still wonder if it was all a big lie, and I visited you so much in that bloody...place. Where they kept your body. I saw you so many times. Pale and cold. You where so cold.

I could go and hit and shout at the guy who was driving. I wanted to so often. I made plans to set his house on fire and break his windows. I thought you'd prefer if I didn't fuck up my life too. I know if I went down the route of blaming him I'd go too far. I want to live for you, not sit in jail.

I miss you doesn't say enough. It doesn't explain the pure lack of sense that I could have been holding you so close, breathing in the smell of your hair one day, and the next you'd be gone. You didn't smell like you afterwards. Not really. I think they put stuff on to stop the body rotting...

I knew you weren't in there though. You where with me in spirit.

The year after it happened, I felt you around me. Your hand on my shoulder, your skin burning mine. Just telling me you where there. I don't feel you much these days. I wonder if I've blocked you out as a way of coping, or if you've just...Oh I don't know.

I'm hoping this will make me feel better in a way. To write it out. I feel like it's been bubbling and I just want to scream. Everything seems to be bubbling away like that lately. Every little thing makes me want to scream and bang my head against the wall and just... hurt something. Hurt myself. I just want to scream so loud.

Is that selfish? That I'm writing to you because I want to feel better? I suppose it is. It doesn't make any of my words less real though.

I love you. I love you so much. I really do.
I hope you're proud of me.
I try to be.
<3



If the world is a cold place
Make it your business to start some fires




   
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