Let Me Teach You How To Breath

Seventh grade was the beginning. She was a tyrant that kept me locked in a cage no one else was brave enough to touch. She told me I was beautiful, but not as beautiful as her. She told me I was talented, but not as talented as her. She told me she loved me, but love doesn't hurt. Eighth grade was when I broke down. I was a mess of fragile pieces I couldn't figure out. Every morning was gray, lifeless, there was no reason to get up, no reason to live. I started out the day by cutting myself with an earring stud, not too deep, because it looked exactly like cat scratches. That's what I told them it was, and that's what they believed. Ninth grade was when the tyrant left the cage, but kept me locked there. She left to laugh at me with the others, gossip, and tell them my most vulnerable secrets, and like always. I forgave her.

I didn't think there was a escape. It was a torrent, tearing, turnabout of darkness, and I was sinking right in. Everyday I felt like I couldn't breath, every thought was how I could end it; how I could end myself completely. I could have, I was going to, but...

That's when I saw her. I heard her laugh, the sound of the heavens was contained in that laugh. I saw her hand, gracefully extended to anyone who would take it. She didn't care who you are because she loved everyone, and everyone loved her. I slid through the bars of the cage, and I took the hand with one trembling and scarred. A whole new world was open to me, a beautiful one. No matter how I felt, no matter what was going on or how much pain I was in, she listened and she cared. With a tender love she nursed me back to health and taught me how to breath. For the first time, I was standing on stable ground, excited for the future, excited to breath in this new gift she had given me. But in taking, I must give. She remains unchangingly beautiful, loving, and graceful, but she's broken inside. She held her arms open, and in return she was stabbed through the heart and left for dead with nothing to believe in. She was my goddess. I wanted to lift her up, I wanted to teach her how to breath. But, I am weak, I can't see what she needs, I'm blinded to what she's feeling, or what would make it better. She wants to die,

And I'm scared
Scared to lose her
I'm selfish
I need her
So I'm not letting go.
There's so much left for her to do, so much left for her to love and experience. She deserves the best and nothing less, and I'll do everything in my power to lift her to it, if I could
Just
Reach
Her
Hand
It's all I ever wanted, all I ever needed. She is my first thought in the morning, my last thought at night. She is the air I breath, the glue that held my soul together until I had the chance to heal. I would give everything I have to see her smile, to say she's okay, because the best is what she deserves, and nothing less. At 4 AM I heard the whisper,
Your selfish
You need her
And your not letting go

I picked up my pen, praying that I would managed to write something to show her the light, to show her the love the world has to offer, the world she put me in that glimmers with color, to teach her how to breath. She may never read it, she may never believe it, her feelings may not change, but it's what I have to offer her, and I hope it's enough.
She's beautiful
She's funny
She's strong
She's graceful
She's loving
She's smart
She's hurt
She needs someone
And my last prayer is that I can be that someone.

Her name is Mori Anderson and

I'm in love with her.

I'm scared to tell her
Because I don't want her to have to go through the pain of rejecting me. I don't want to hurt or change what we have, but I don't want her to feel like dying is the best option. I want her to feel my love, and let me hold her until she feels better.
I'm selfish
I need her
And I'm not letting go
And I'm going to try everything, give everything, until I know she's okay.