I want messy.

Not the kind of overwhelming, unorganized messy, but the carefree, lovely mess.

The mess of your hair that sticks out in every direction after a good night of sleep.

Or the mess of tangled blankets because you like to cuddle close during movies.

The mess of making muffins and getting flour absolutely everywhere.

A messy first kiss that ends in awkward chuckles, pressing my forehead against yours.

The mess of having to give your dog a bath and getting water everywhere.

The mess of mascara running down my cheeks not because of tears but because we were dancing in the rain.

I don't want a neat, put together life.

I want something real and lovely.

I want messy.

He didn't exactly have a name, but I knew that he belonged to me. I was the only one who was able to see him.

He was always cautious, careful not to get too close.

He would sprint frantically next to the car as we drove down the streets, terrified that I may be abandoning him. But I would never.

And I would get out of the car, and be attacked with his bounds of love. But others only saw me rolling on the ground squealing with joy over nothing they could understand.

He gave me courage, the ability to stand up to people at school, because I had this big creature ready to pounce, standing behind me at all times.

Nobody else really understood though. And I didn't understand why they wouldn't acknowledge him.

But I was glad too, because that meant that he was only mine.

Growing up, I had my imaginary cat, that gave me the ability to do whatever I wanted. But as I got older he turned into more than a cat, and less of my friend.

Friends can turn to enemies, and that's what he did. He made me become scared and afraid, and do things I didn't want to do. We had to lock him away, under the chains of medications and therapies.

He's gone now, but every once in a while, I can still hear his cry from the dungeon of my mind, begging me to release him, give him control again.

I used to love your sarcastic remarks, and how you teased me about everything.

I used to love the way you would pretend to ignore me, just to see me get mad because it was cute.

I used to love the way you would shy away from my affection in public.

But the teasing became yelling, making fun of me for things I couldn't control and I was already self conscious about.

And the pretending became real as you ignored me for hours at a time, until I would break down and not be able to handle it any longer.

And the shying away became complete avoidance of me eventually, like you never even cared.

Maybe you never cared.

Maybe it was all part of your twisted game, to make the already fragile girl even more fragile.

Maybe it worked.

I never thought that I would make it this far in my life. Figured I'd be long dead before I ever reached the age of 18, so I never started to plan out or think about what I was going to do with my life.

Now I'm a couple months away from the ripe old age of 18, and I'm terrified. I have no idea what I am going to do with myself.

It's either I go to college, or I don't have a place to live according to my mother. So it looks like college is a necessity. But I haven't applied anywhere. And it's already April. So I'm feeling left out and left behind as all of my friends already know exactly what they are going to do with their lives.

I felt as though I had been doing okay, happy enough and not wanting to die too badly. Until now.

I'm panicking..freaking out that I am still alive. Not something you hear every day.

And now I've made it this far, and I wish I never had, because death stills seems like a much better option to me.

Tears ran down her cheeks, mixing with the rain as she shuffled down the street. Nobody cared, and she knew that now more than ever. She made it to her destination, the bridge that loomed over the river rushing below. Sitting on the edge, her body shivered with anticipation and she knew that this is what she wanted; this is what everybody wanted. One last glance around her, still nobody was there to care, not that she expected there to be. Just as she flung herself forward, she caught somebody's eye, they smiled sadly at her, a ghost of a soft goodbye hanging from their lips.