She killed them.

All of them.

My people, my family.

And I forgot.

I made myself forget.

Why?

I know not,

But what I do know,

Is that I have to get my memories back.

All of them.

I have lived a dozen lives,

And for all of them, I was running.

I was always running, from the Caligo Unus.

The Dark Ones, the cult who wish to free her from her prison.

Do they know not what she has done to the world?

I have to leave, and remember who I am.

For now, The Bridge is your only hope.

Run to him, he awaits on Terrae.

(The inhabitants call the planet:

Earth)

I have it.

I knew it,

Yet I hid from the fact,

That I am prone to a panic attack.

I've had them before,

But they didn't leave me on the floor.

They just appeared, then left,

Their really is nothing to be said.

I know now, I knew for a while.

When I auditioned, that one day in class,

And all but failed singing Evermore,

That was when I knew.

Every other time I stand now, I get those same feelings,

The 'What If's flood my mind, and I'm left,

Standing in front of all my peers,

A monologue, a song, or a poem ringing in my ears.

I had memorised Evermore,

I had done it so many times before,

Yet I failed that day, in front of Him.

Yet I hold on to my embarassment.

The embarassment of having to grab lyrics,

The embarassment of starting too late on my song,

The embarassment of shaking for no reason at all.

All the while, just trying not to cry.

My brother has it, Social Anxiety.

He doesn't socialise much, but I do.

I love people, and I don't know why I panic.

I guess its natural, for someone like me.

With all my flaws,

I mean, who would like me,

Except those who share my pain?

Who would like me,

If I cried just for being called on?

Who would like me,

or even care if I just stayed in the corner for the rest of my life?

No one I like would.

Especailly not Him,

He saw me for who I really was.

For who I am.

A scared, little, broken child,

With depression and anxiety,

Just trying to make it through school.

I can see us, curled on the couch the way my brothers and their girlfriends always are. You would take your big hands and pull me close. I would look into your soft, blue eyes. Your big lips gently brushing mine as we would share our first kiss. My hand would linger up to your brown hair, always the perfect length. My heart thunders, and I can’t think. Nothing I did prepared me for this moment, at least that’s how I think about it; every day. It’s been two and a half years, and I’m not over you. The funny thing is, you and I never, ever, shared chemistry. I got carried away in my head, and it was all my fault. The world I created existed only in my head. That’s the sad reality.

I remember how it started, me liking you. It was back in 8th grade. Right after my mistake on Valentines day. We had dance together last year, and that was akward. She had a crush on you, and that’s how we met. I asked you your name, as the first words we ever said to each other. The look you gave rolled off my shoulder, back then. Later, that look would sink daggers into my heart, but you deserved to give it to me. I remember, I liked your face first, then your frame. You had the build of a baseball player; after all, that’s what you were. But it was your smile that captivated me, it seemed to creep onto your face, like a clever fox creeps into a town. It had a calm confidence to it, as though it belonged. It was a facade, for kindly clever intentions. Your hands were bigger than mine. I know that from watching you play basketball. I can still feel them gently pulling mine into them. Not that it ever happened, at least, not in reality. In my world, it happened all the time. It was the kind of thing I see with other people, other couples I mean. They always want to spend time with each other. I wanted to spend time with you. In my other world, you wanted that too. Now, you probably don’t even want me writing this. You’d think I’m over stepping, writing about you. If you only knew the things I wrote you in my world. Oh, the joy I could bring you, as I read what my heart felt. I can remember, me and you, at the park, a picture perfect picnic laid out on the hill. Our plates, empty, the basket, empty as well. The blanket, a white and red checker pattern, seemlessly laid on the impossibly green grass. You and I would be laying there, propped up by one arm, your eyes, a green? Or were they brown? I don’t recall, but they would be locked on mine. I would gaze at them, as you would sneak your hand onto mine. I would glance down, blush, and and timidly gaze back at you. I’d probably have something on my cheek that you would brush off with your loving hands. Or maybe you’d just say that to touch me. Then, as though on impulse, you would kiss me. It would be like any storybook moment. It was my biggest dream.Until I realised:

You are straight, and deserve more than me.

We stand alone.

We, the brave.

We stand tall, when others are 'round.

We stand, but fall, to the heartless ground.

We stand, for what? An idea, a phrase.

We stand, and wait for those final days.

When we can stand together as one.

We stand idle, until the task is done.

When the words so peirce and cut our skin.

Our skin of steel, that allows us to win.

To win our hearts, made of purest gold.

But, oh how lonely the wait in the cold.

The cold embrace of this fragile world.

Where the people of intellect are only old.

And the feeble are fleeting, from high to high.

Never in a rush to say goodbye.

To the thing that runs, like a cat from a dog.

Into the perilous, eternal bog.

So it's here that the brave, and the cunning, and wild.

Stand here and wait, like an obediant child.

I'm tired of being a wide eyed dog,

That bends to the command of unseen master.

I'm tired of being lost in the bog,

That is wrought with pain and disaster.

Oh, too many times have I been ashamed,

To speak the words that surface in my brain.

I've said too many things that have to be displayed.

All the while wishing to dance in the rain.

I'm tired of seeing the world through eyes of hope.

Although the world is wrought with the evil I have lived,

I always saw past what I wrote.

Though, I cannot see what I believe.

I believe that I am a wolf,

A couragous beast that can do miraculous things.

But I sit as though I'm a loof,

Listening and saying without thinking.

So today I will dance, in the pouring rain.

Today I won't have as soft a face as yesterday.

Today I'll amaze, and look as though the pain,

Didn't just fade away. But I've lived to see another day.

I know what you are thinking, don't.

He's not worth it, he's straight.

Nothing you can do now is worth it in the end.

Follow these steps, please, for yourself.

Although, you wouldn't stop for you.

Do it for him, it's not worth the guilt.

Step One:

Put down the Yearbook.

Step Two:

Smile.

Step Three:

Move on.

What am I supposed to do?

They are gone.

All gone, never to return.

He left, walked out that door.

I could still hear his footsteps

She was his victim.

I could still hear her screams.

They, they ran. They didn't get far before the guns killed them.

I can still feel their fear.

She, the other girl, she ended it all, for herself.

I can still feel her cuts.

Me? I am sitting here, after the bomb went off.

My ears ring, my eyes sting.

The blood softly trickles down my cheek.

But I'm too numb to pay attention to that.

They, they took anything I needed, anything I wanted.

I stood, wiping soot from my forehead, with my left arm.

My right arm was limp, broken I supposed.

I attempted to move it, my muscles clenched,

shards of pain cut through my whole body, like glass.

I gritted my teeth and stopped.

It was pointless.

I was alone.

I looked up the street,

Eveything was on fire.

Billowing smoke curled up into the sky.

Symbolic, I assume, of the spirits headed that way.

Although, not mine.

I was stuck in a place, worse than Hell.

I had to fend for myself, in a country warring against itself.

I peered into the forest.

Perhaps that would shelter me?

Not if the boar got to me.

This was the start, the start of the end, that is.

The end of my "normal" life.

And I face it alone.

Why is loss so great?

We all know of it.

So why is so meaningful?

Why does it leave us so broken,

Sitting on the kitchen floor that day.

Why was I so vulnerable?

Why was I so broken,

I had forgotten.

I had forgotten what I appreciated,

I had forgotten what I missed.

But I felt it, I felt all of it.

It wasn't like before,

The shackles that bound me then couldn't weigh me down this time.

I would not neglect him, like I did my brother.

My brother was here, and he was not.

My brother tried, and he didn't.

He knew his value, my brother knew his own pain.

I knew them both, and I needed him, not my brother.

I didn't need him here, I needed him gone.

As fickle as it is, his loss helped me more than my brother's attempt.

Down here, she didn't make an attempt, she succeeded.

She didn't know her value, neither did my brother.

But she left a hole that I can feel.

Her friends soon became mine, and with them, their hurt.

I could feel them, each one.

I felt their pain, I felt their cuts.

But I didn't know them, I couldn't.

I thought I knew, from my brother.

But I never felt for my brother, I never wanted to.

But when I was there, on the kitchen floor,

I wanted to be broken,

I wanted to be ntohing more than absolutely speechless.

But I was too strong.

He was dead, not my brother, him.

I cried, but that was all.

I wrote, and that was it.

I took so much positive from him,

It drowned out the negative.

I know that it's what he would've wanted,

But I didn't know that it's what I needed.

I needed to trudge forward.

Ever forward, towards something better?

I know not.

His light went out.

And mine blew up.

Her light went out,

And then mine came here.

Their lights dimmed,

And in their darkness I bloomed.

A firey blossom that engulfed the darkness.

It took one spark,

But I'm not giving up.

I care, about every star in the sky.

I care about every candle in the sun.

I care about her, even though I haven't met her.

She didn't leave an impact by being mean.

She didn't lead a legacy of love through hate.

She knew her worth, and she showed others their worth too.

Now it's my job too.

It's my turn to light others candles.

It's my voice this time,

And it's his spark,

Her Ember,

My time to rule,

To rule the darkness through light.

My voice is not going out like my brothers.

It's going out like His, or Hers.

But not today, I have too much to live for.

I have them, and the hole to fill.

I will lift them, as she did.

She won't be forgotten,

He won't either.

My brother may be,

But I won't.

I am staying,

'Cause it only takes one light in the dark.

One light, to show that the world isn't all dark.

The shadows may press, seemingly, into every wall.

Every door may close.

Every head may turn away from you.

But no darkness is ever permanent.

If darkness is the lack of light,

Then I will be the light to start,

To start the night sky.

I will be the evening star,

So others may shine above me.

Hear my call,

Hear my voice.

They may be gone,

Remember them.

But there is a hope on the horizon.

Move forward,

Not in neglectance of them.

But in respect.

You are alive,

Do you know your value?

Love is a bush of thorns.

The floral beauty out of reach.

Love is wrought with pain and pride,

And only given to the gardner.

Love is as sharp as Cupid's arrows,

Piercing deep and striking true.

Love is an ache that cannot be cured,

Weakening the heart of all it touches.

Love is nothing but a pain,

Giving the lover a cacophonous sob.

And above all, love is a tormented torcher.

When the love is brought into the light.