Hope’s Dead ?

I’m thinking of ending things. My 13-year old self that still lives somewhere inside my head continuously screams "unloved". I try to hold her, console her with my words. They are mostly empty though. How can I give her something that I don’t have yet?

Sometimes she believes me, resting her head in the crook of my neck and sobbing silently, letting out everything that we can’t say out loud.

I'm sitting on pungent memories, my hands crumbling a half-written suicide note inside my pocket. The book I'm currently holding has everything slowly falling in place now. I wonder how that feels, to not have ants crawling up your skin all the time, to not locking your heart with chains 'cause it keeps trying to come out of your chest all the time.

Does these happy endings only exist on the other side of the paper?

I'm thinking of burying everything under the skin. I'm tired of protecting the little girl. Her Hope's dead anyway and the corpse lie unattended. The air around it smells like rotten love, and decaying emotions.

I'm scribbling another note. It looks more like a poem. Beautiful. Heartfelt. Relatable. And deceiving. A poet, and their words should never be trusted anyway...

Ishika, wondering how long Hope stays consumable after it expires?