So you want to tell me about sacrifice and that I don't know desperation. I am just a girl that knows nothing of your hardships and pain. Well, fuck you, my tattoos have stories, just as your do, my life has left me twice now and it is not a badge of honor that I carry in my pocket. On the outside I look like you, like everyone else, but my light blue eyes have been empty, and my waist length hair has stayed in the same messy knot for over a week, unkept and dirty. I have scars I can't hide. I am an archieve of loss. I have lain next to the man of my dreams, only the next morning to wake to find his space empty, never to be filled again. So ask me again why I don't want to be touched, or why my dimples are seldom summoned, or why the black lines around my eyes never go away. Its because I am human, just like you, and I am not alone in my solitude. But happiness finds a home in no one. I pray that I will remember that when happiness visits me once again.
Reason for writing:
I really hate it when people ask me what my story is.
Birth sign: Not entered
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