. . . all I need right now . . .

All I wanted was for you to smile and tell me that you're sorry. To hold me and kiss my head and play with my hair. Just for you to say "I love you". But you didn't.

You hurt me. You made me cry and you laughed about it. You told me that "it wasn't working". You told me that after letting me stay with you all weekend. Taking me to London. Telling me you do love me. Letting me believe that everything is perfect. Leading me on. Lying.

And as I lay there in your arms, crying, dying, you said nothing. You didn't care. There is nothing you could have done that would have hurt me more than what you did to me. You never even admitted to a mistake. You made me apologise. You made me feel like everything was my fault.

You couldn't tell your parents, and you let them talk to me about my birthday, and the weekend, and Christmas, and the future. You let them do that knowing full well, that I would probably never see them again. Never get the chance to thank them for all they did for me.

Everything you said to me afterwards made me feel worse and worse. You made me feel like you never loved me, never could, and you made me feel like nobody else could ever love me.
I have been hurting for the past two months. You treated me like crap for two months. But I put up with it, because I love you. Loved you. Love you. I thought it was a blip, a phase, that everything would go back to normal. That you were finding things hard. That you loved me. And you didn't. So why lie?
You were my everything.
I mean it.
Everything.

I lost you.

I lost everything.

I don't blog, I write.
Just, Me.

Help . .

Thankyou to the beautiful ones who are there. The small minority of people who I call my friends. The ones who listen to this crap. The ones who have actually been able to reduce me to tears. The ones who have seen me cry.
If you know it all, then I trust you and I love you.
Always worrying nowadays.
The ones I always thought would be there, I'm beginning to doubt. Sorry. I don't know what to do anymore. I stopped being so paranoid. I actually began to change. Began to deal with the way things were. I did what I needed to do, so you need to do the same now. You people. You really do. Because I'm not coping, but still, don't expect me to give up. Through this, I'm realising that I'm tougher than I thought. I'm hard to crack, and you do have the power to crack me. But don't expect me to tell you that.
Just help me . .

I don't blog, I write.
Just, Me.

. . . Onwards and Upwards . . .

October.

Autumn.
This is it.

Give anyone a summer sunset, and they will tell you it's beautiful. Give them an autumn sunset, and it will leave them breathless. Birds darting across an open sky, a giant canvas painted without line, only colour. Pinks, reds, oranges, lilacs, and someone dabbed on some navy's and deep purples to make fluffy clouds. Hiding places for the birds games.

And then there is the sun. Low, making the hills glow like the embers of a dying fire. Everything in the distance is only silhouettes - not because it’s dark, it may still be relatively light – but just because the sun takes over the skyline and nothing else is quite as beautiful or important. And the sun sinks, burying itself, and drowning in the hills, until all you can see, is the last light dancing through the gaps in the branches of bare trees and naked hedgerows.

You can't beat a walk in the park in autumn. The sun is shining, but you still have to wrap up warm. Coats, scarves, gloves, and those silly looking hats that you can't help but laugh at. Jeans and warm padded boots. You run, being chased by crisp brown leaves, covering your shoes, gripping to your clothes, and stuck to your hair, trapped, unable to escape. And you don't care, the sun, the blue sky, the white clouds, the rain, the rainbow. And the laughter. The genuine smiles and laughter. The kind that only, that classic autumn day brings.

People rave about summer, the sun and the beach. They love the snow in winter. They think that spring is new and beautiful.

For me, this is it. Bring on the first frost. Get me started on my autumn.

I don't blog, I write.
Just, Me.