It was almost unbearable as he hurt me further and further, remotely aware of it himself. I gave up practically everything I had for him and even though I did he still wouldn’t say yes. I broke up with someone that I deeply cared about at the time just so I could ask and beg to myself that he’d say yes. I never told him how much it hurt every time rejection hit me in the face or how much his inconsequential responses sent pain spiraling through my heart. I never told him truly how I felt about him, in fear that he wouldn’t accept it. The time finally did come when he said yes and it sent elation running madly through my system and then he took it back. He stole the present sunshine away from my world to leave me in the ever-present blackness that always threatened to engulf me, leaving me in a world where death couldn’t come any sooner. I was dead without the comfort of the sunshine that had finally come to warm my world, a world that had no reason without it. I couldn’t have lived another day of seeing his face if I hadn’t of found someone to us as a crutch. It lasted for the time being in till my crutch lastly sought after more and when I couldn’t offer it, struck me in the face. I left him, I a miserable waste of confusion and sorrow, searching after others that had it worst than me; some did drugs others just felt like their existence was in vain and without purpose. I settled among the wrong crowd, and strangely I didn’t mind, I liked it. But without a crutch to keep my head above the water I soon found myself drowning in the blackness. I became one of them; after all, in a world devoid of a sun, everything was predestined to give up the ghost at some point. I stayed where I was for a while but reluctantly I gave in and began seeing him again, even though it hurt. I did want him to be happy but I also wanted to be contented. I sought after an old friend and we made a deal and even though I was sure he’d never keep his side of the bargain, I stayed true to my word. I waited and waited but couldn’t find the timing so on the last day of the negotiation threw in my money. He had said no, and even though it should’ve hurt I was too use to the pain to feel it, I had gave it my all and now I had to see my fought after friend and keep my side of the agreement. Even though I had called and told my friend that he won, I still had the rest of the day to make it work, but I honestly didn’t feel like fighting anymore when I was living a life that wasn’t worth fighting for. I did tell him about the deal that day and after hearing whom I had made the deal with he changed his mind and said yes. I should have been thrilled but I was strangely baffled, I didn’t expect to win my side of the negotiation, but I had. I was wary this time though, always on edge waiting for him to take it back, waiting for the words that would send me into my chasm of escalating heartrending gloom. But it didn’t seem like it was going to happen, that he’d do that again and I let my guard slip beneath the rug. I was utterly and completely happy when I was with him and it was what kept me whole, if it hadn’t have been for him I would have gotten jammed farther into my previous habits deeper than ever before. I would have fallen into the same perturbed dejection that my parents dreaded and reprimanded at the same time. As I said before I had let my sentinel slip from top to bottom trusting him and setting myself up for another fall. It did happen though he did tell me one day that we would go our separate ways at summer’s conclusion. Even though I acted as if it hadn’t bothered me, it had taken hold of me and ripped a whole in the center of my chest. It was as if he had just left me then, even if he did that it would be better than what he had done. It would have been better, healthier for me if he had done it that way, left me on the spot. He should have just waited instead of telling me, it was as if he couldn’t wait to leave me, like he had better things to do rather than waste his time on me. It was true though, he shouldn’t have to waste his time on me, and after all I had already damaged me beyond repair. He should have just left me or have waited till the end of summer to do it instead of giving me a date, he had wounded half of me, and I was only half dead. When the time came it would be like sawing the heart out of my chest with a chipped rusty blade. He wouldn’t care or look back, he’d move on without a second thought about it; after all he was too good for me anyway. I knew what it would feel like even before it happened, I wouldn’t cry, or beg, or look for a crutch, I wouldn’t even bother to keep my head above the water or keep myself whole. I wouldn’t care about what was in store for me, the whole in my chest would never leave me but I could find away to distract it. I’d slip unnoticed back into my previous life with the wrong crowd, the right crowd in my case, and fall victim to the drugs or the alcohol. I’d do my best to seem happy to my family but let my emotions take hold when I was alone. I would try to find someone that was in tune to me and didn’t play games like so many others. A guy who understood life more than life itself, and just wanted to keep things real. I would forget about him if he moved away or kept his happiness to himself. But it would be hard and I’d have to work at it, if I could even do that. Someone at some point had told even if he and me were on the opposite sides of the world we’d still keep in touch. Now those words had become my enemy as they scorched their way through my body, I would continue being his friend no matter how much it hurt me as long as he wanted me around. If he decided it was better to forget me, then I would cope and do likewise. But he would always have a place, a place in the hole in my chest to fester, to make me feel like anything was better than breathing this air and the beating of my heart. That was a thing that could draw me into my episodes, how much I wished I could live without a heart beating inside my chest. It wasn’t the only way to start the deadness of myself but it was the fastest. My heart beat in my chest and no matter how much warm blood it pumped through my veins, it never tired. It never stopped beating and if I looked into the mirror and saw it pulsing under the thin membrane of my skin I couldn’t stop looking at it. It sucked me in like nothing else could. It scared me how dead I could get in my mind, just by thinking too hard in one area. I found if I thought too much about something like someone’s face I could smear the lines and forget. I wish the heart pumping my blood listened to my head, to stop beating when I told it to instead of the involuntary rush of blood that coursed through my veins every time it beat. It’s hard to have a heart when people you love hurt you or betray you. But it’s nice having a heart when it sends adrenaline running madly through your veins at frights, like falling backwards from a tree even though you hold on to the branch. Or when you’re up really high like on a ride and it drops you, leaving you plummeting towards the ground at immense speed in till it suddenly slows you down jerking your head. That’s the only thing that you truly need a beating heart to enjoy, but if you didn’t have a heart that beat and you were still alive it would be better. You’d never die or be scared of anything anymore, you couldn’t bleed or heal because your skin would be as hard as marble. You’d never have to breath to keep your blood supplied with oxygen. You could run fast as you could without tiring because of lack of oxygen. You would be grandly immortal.