i don't remember who i was last night, let alone who i was five years ago, when i merely dappled in anxiety and depression was too abstract to touch. sometimes i miss the stretch of months where i didn't feel much. of course, when i lost one sense, another strengthened; i could see clearer as i watched my world fall apart. the fractures were more vivid, more detailed, more poignant. lust, a cardinal sin. enter wrath. voices cracking, shattering the mirage of a once-revered man. i learned to be careful who i canonized.

i stopped giving away even the smallest pieces of me: hobbies, habits, feelings. i bubble wrapped my body, except for my hands, i needed some skin to destroy. but i wasn't satisfied with the bloody fingers i'd had for ten years, so i moved on to my knuckles, then my shoulders, then my thighs. i wasn't sure if it was self-harm but i'd been doing it too long to quit, and i never did have the guts to cut. fifteen years now, but at least i'm back to only my fingers.

when she noticed my shoulders were healing, she smiled and said i was getting better. i recall smiling back but i don't think i told her the scars scared me. i don't remember not feeling fear, i'm scared to recover and i'm afraid to stay unstable.

is better a place or a feeling? sometimes it's her arms or the heat in my chest but neither last long enough to keep me warm during the night. better is a fleeting, finite thing. it is only permanent when i am far from it, like puddles on the highway on a humid afternoon.

i fear i'm an illusion, too. i have spent so long reflecting my emotions on tilted mirrors in order to create the perfect vision. even when i put down the glass and open my mouth and try to let the truth come out, i fail. maybe i'm hypnotized by the lies i've fed myself for years and i really am a weight on the world, or maybe they're the truth. maybe my life will serve as living proof that some people don't deserve to live, some people don't have any worth.

my therapist told me to use logic. use science to prove how i'm worthless. so i've started a pros and cons list, and it's halfway done. burden, waste of space, sloth. i've created a hypothesis as well as trials to run, and i'm nearly positive that my twisted logic is correct. when i'm like this, i don't remember my intellect. i don't remember when i believed my last affirming thought. all i know is i amount to all my peeled skin and the platelets i've forced to clot.

Treat me like I'm your favorite flower.

Tell me that I'm your favorite scent and that the odors of roses pale in comparison.

Show me that I am the white, drowning among a sea of red.

Act like I am a tulip,

that closes when the sun sets,

And you must see every inch of my body before I close and disappear.

Hold me like I'm delicate-

I promise I am.

But take heed of my thorns-

I promise I'm not weak.

I glance at her, all sunshine hair and sparkling eyes. Why does she have to be so beautiful? I glance away, color flooding my cheeks. But of course she can't see my soul rising up my chest when I look at her, of course she can't hear my heart pounding against my ribcage like a captured bird. She's clueless. She doesn't know.

I sit down and and open my chest and let my small, hopeless soul crawl out. It's blue.

She turns toward me, and her mouth turns down. "Are you okay?" She asks.

No, never. I'll never be okay until I can press my lips to hers. "I'm fine," I rasp, and push my soul back inside my chest. My heart starts beating again.

She kneels down and looks me in the eyes. She's so close I could have grabbed her hand, or touch her cheek, but I don't. "Are you sure?" She whispers. Her breath flutters against my cheek.

"Yes," I croak. My heart stops again. She gets to her feet and hold her hand out. Does she want me to take it? I don't, just stare at it. I want to take it. But I can't.

"Come on," she says.

"I want to stay here," I say, gritting my teeth. Why can't I just take her hand? She takes mine. My heart explodes and shrivels in my chest. She pulls me up, and I gaze into her eyes, trying to memorize how beautiful they are.

"Hi," I say, my breath catching in my throat.

"Hi," she says. She drops my hand. "Tell me what's wrong."

I look away from her pleading eyes, her pursed lips. "I'll never tell you what's wrong," I say. My fingers twitch. I can still feel the ghost of her hand in mine, and I don't remember what it's like for my heart to beat. When I bundle up the courage to glance at her again, her eyes are wide with sadness. "You can trust me," she says softly. "I trust you."

"That's the problem," I say. "That is the problem." I wonder what kissing her would be like, and quickly push the thought away. 'No, no, no...'

"You've been acting strange," she says.

Yeah, well, does she know what it's like to fall in love with your best friend? To dream of taking her hands in yours, to press your lips--no. I must not think of that... "I've always been strange," I say, and flash her a quick, awkward smile that makes me cringe.

Her eyes crinkle up as she smiles. My heart dies for the third time that day. "I know that," she says lightly, her voice sounding of sunshine and rain and the ocean. My voice just sounds like me. "But stranger than usual."

She's so clueless, so her, that I want to cry, to... "I guess..." My voice trails off. I'm caught mid sentence by her flawless beauty. I need to stop staring at her! I hide inside myself, look at the ground.

"Hey," she says.

"Hello," I say quietly. My blue soul has turned a deep shade of magenta. She steps to stand beside me. Our arms brush. I stop breathing.

"You," she says, "are funny." She laughs.

"Okay," I say. There is nothing funny about this. She is standing way too close to me. Oh--she's closer. Our cheeks brush. My cheeks are on fire, and I pray she can't tell.

"Hi," I breathe.

"Hello," she says, and my soul bursts out of my heart and crawls through my body. I am warm all over. I love her so much, way too much, but I can never have her. My soul crawls back into my heart, and I sigh. It's blue again.

School is boring just sitting in class learning important stuff. When you could be having fun with your friends laughing and giggling in Costa Rica. But no you have to sit on your butt in class and learn how to spell or do math. Everyday at school I think if I wasn't here what would I be doing. Maybe flipping maybe going on roller coasters with friends you never know.