Latest Forum Posts:


HomeGeneral StoriesMemories


I wrote this in ninth grade after a looong poetry writer's block. Trigger warning for self-harm.

Do you remember when you wanted to lose yourself, when you wanted nothing but to dissolve into the crevices of the walls behind you and fade into nothingness, when you wanted to say goodbye to everyone but save yourself the pain of departure by just fading away into the bitter air that frequently surrounded you, freezing you to the point where you thought the cold seeped into your soul and numbed everything?
I think you do.

It was a sad day for me when I found you sitting on the bathroom floor, a river of crimson flowing onto the cold porcelain beneath you, floor as pale as your scared, sobbing face. You held onto me as if I were a lifeline when I sank down next to you and wrapped my arms around your delicate, trembling body.

Your tears streaked down your face and mingled with mine, the crushing feeling of dread you always felt mixing in with my happiness, sticking onto me like glue and making me see the world the way you did, as a hopeless, barren wasteland.

Do you remember when we went out to the cabin by the lake and drank our misery away, pain and laughter bubbling through the stale air as we threw ourselves on the battered couch and cried onto the pillows, salt water staining the dark fabric as we sobbed and blamed our unhappiness on everyone, anyone except ourselves? When we raced through the pretty meadow in sparse, thin clothing that trailed behind us in the swishing breeze because we wanted the intense cold to wake us up from our long dream and put us to sleep at the same time? When we ran and ran and ran, until we forgot who we were and where we were and how we got here, just like the long lost memory of running horses from a favorite story once read long ago, because life seemed much easier that way, when we weren't ourselves, when only our battered bodies remained on Earth while our souls drifted through the black firmament of the night sky?
I think you do.

Because I do. I remember the pain, the tears and the uncertainty of what ironically had to be the most certain fact of all: who we were. I remember you staring back at me through the mirror, I remember practically seeing the gears shifting in your head as you fought to find the thin line between reality and lies, as you tried to take solace in my presence even though half of the time I looked at you I stared back with remorse. The way you gazed at me in wonder, pain and confusion with glazed, bloodshot eyes had us both tilting our head to the side in a silent question, had us both reaching out for the shard of glass at the same time, but I always stopped and looked at you in concern as you cried and broke your skin, as you wailed out to me and asked me to take over, crying even harder when you realized I couldn't.

I don't think you remember those last days of sadness and oppression when you looked into the cold porcelain of the bathroom walls and saw me, crying identical tears as you, though. I was trapped and sad and trying to find my way out, but in the end, it is all resolved because even though you claim you wanted me to be released you never let me out. It was sad to watch you crumble under the hard pressure of life and finally watch you fall onto the wooden floor of the winter cabin, snow flowing in through the open window and mingling with the powder you were just inhaling mere seconds ago from the dusty living room table, the light, flittering substance mixing with the weather and covering your body in pure white, an oddly beautiful scene of delicacy.

You viewed me as a stranger, as a foreign thing you could not control, never understanding my presence but accepting it with trembling, open arms nonetheless. It was odd how you never figured out what I was; who I am.

I was what you always wanted to be, I am what you really were all along. I was what people wished of you, I am the saviour of an already lost life, I was the sad person looking back at your angry glares. I am your reflection in the broken bathroom mirror, I am your disappointed soul, I am the only friend you ever truly had. I am you.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

To link to this story from your site - please use the following code:

<a href="">Memories</a>

Comments (1)

Tell us why

Please tell us why you think this story should be removed.