why is it that every time it rains i think about the night you left your glass sliding door open and coughed up half your lungs for the next three days? and every time i listen to Good Charlotte or Evanescence or, hell, even Avenged Sevenfold, i find myself editing music videos in my head of you and me and a bitter love-hate relationship where no one is the hero?

and when Soutien called to tell me he cheated on my sweetest angel, one of my last sentences to him was that he was no better than... than you. because i know that poor girl still has problems keeping blades away from her pearly skin, which is already littered with baby-pink marks reminding her of past mistakes. the sad part is that i only know what she will go through because i had been there. the worse part is that i couldn't stop myself from loving you.

i find myself contemplating if your suicide or mine would've ended the relationship on a lighter note. but all the complications of it are, in fact, the reasons neither of us decided to pull the trigger. yours would have left the impression of you being weaker than me, and mine would have left the impression that you were too much for me to stand. both of which were not quite the case.

two nights ago my fingers touched two gravestones- both of the deceased died at the brink of adulthood in vehicular accidents. i didn't wear my seat belt when i left the cemetery and wondered if you would touch my headstone the same way i did theirs; with regret almost pouring out my fingertips.

i've nothing left to say to you, save that i know you're still a liar and sarcasm is your only dictionary and someday... maybe our remorse will bleach clean our once-pearled skin. but the truth is, it may take just as long to bleach my memory and the place you used to occupy in my bruised heart and denial-bled mind.