LEAVE THE LIGHT ON

The place was dead silent.

A bird gave out a sad chirp at a distance.

The soft wind blew and the fallen autumn leaves moved in sync on the ground.

***
Andrea’s unsteady hand dived deep in the right side pocket of her long charcoal black vintage dress in search of the neatly folded foolscap. She was trying her best to look nonchalant but her watery eyes sold her away. She had been there for her even when her world had turned darkest. She had held her during all her re-lapses when every other person in her life sneered and judged her. She had claimed her so openly and so highly despite all of her flaws and struggles. Then bloody hell, why did she have to leave so early? She was too young to live and die the way she did. So many dreams left unfulfilled, so much words left unsaid, and with too much hurt still scarring the walls of her loving young heart. 28 is not the age we die. It was supposed to be the age we thrived, called upon a thousand stars and lived. She was supposed to LIVE.

At what point was it okay for her to give it all up?

Her eyes finally landed on her lover’s lifeless body lying before her in a simple but nicely crafted wooden boat like a mannequin. She looked peaceful, Kalea, her once nicely tanned brown skin now a pale blue, the colour of death. Her lips had frozen into a half smile. Her left hand had tightly clutched a white rose, stained with her dark red blood, a sign she once lived. The inside of the boat was lined with a turquoise blue silk cloth. Her purely white tunic provided a great contrast to the bright yellow sunflowers and blue lilies surrounding her body. This was how Kalea had always wanted to go, a final sending like in the werewolf classics and novellas.

“If I die young, which I most probably will, lay me down on a bed of sunflowers and sail me down the lake at dawn. Watch my flaming body burn into ash and float away with the waves”

And Andrea had gone to great lengths to ensure her lover had got her last wishes.

She took in a deep breath and finally lifted her face to look at the group of about twenty people standing by the shore. She struggled to read the content of the paper scribbled in Kalea’s own handwriting but it came out as barely a whisper. She cleared her throat and began again.

“If you are hearing this it means you made it to my funeral. Now allow me to tell you a story about my life and more. This was the last thing I did in my miserable life. I wanted it to be the last thing I ever did. Bleed out ink and write my own story. Leave a light on for whoever who might be going through what I did, and also because people are so scared to tell the truth nowadays they would rather write a scripted story about how perfect your life had been. My life was nothing close to perfect, and so was my death. Flaws lined up like constellations.

Despite being a mixed race Muslim child living in a foreign country, I was a lesbian.

From a very young age, I was a target. Susceptible to being hurt, cast aside for being different, and being bullied both physically and mentally. It was a constant battle of me struggling to make everyone around me comfortable with my being different. I had to watch how I spoke and carried myself least I offended someone for not conforming to what was considered normal. Life was a test, and there were a million ways to fail. I remember when I was five and on my way home from school some older man screamed at me “Get your filthy black Muslim ass out of our soil before I call immigration on you.” And he went on to spit on me. I was five, too young to comprehend what the hatred was all about. I still see his face even as I write my last words. The smirk he wore and the coldness in his sunken shamrock green eyes.

The hate we give little infants…

At age 15 I remember coming out to my family and friends that I was gay. It was the hardest thing that I had ever done in my life, but the constant lying to your friends and family is exhausting, almost depressing. I saw the tears well up in her eyeballs, and she wept. My mother wept for me. Fuck. I should have stayed in the damn closet. My father never spoke a word to me again. All he said was that a homosexual daughter was no daughter of his. I thought I knew hurt, but this hurt different. This was not a stranger spitting on me by the road; it was my own birth father rejecting me when his approval is everything I had ever wanted in life.

It’s not the pain. It’s who it came from.

Everything was worse than it was. Words were said. Words that nobody deserved to hear. And it hurts in lots of little subtle ways because words frame how people really feel about you. The hurt then turned in to anger, then sadness that became so overwhelming it was eating me from the inside out. I isolated myself from people, lost a little weight because I was not eating, taught my fading soul how to keep on screaming despite whatever lemons life was feeding me. I became convinced that there was no room for us or we, just I. Lonely, that’s how rock bottom felt, lonely with the only familiar sound being that of your own heart breaking and your eyes dripping in tears. I remember one Friday night overdosing on some expired meds from my mother’s drug cabinet. Even the strong ones have their breaking point, and this was mine. I wanted it all to end, the cruelty, the suffering, the PAIN. I was 17…and I wanted out.

God did come through for me at last. He came in form of Andrea, the love of my life. It was unconditional for us. I had never had someone pick me up and love me hard the way she did. It was surreal. I was the nobody who got the bloody princess at the end, but sadly our story did not end with a happily ever after kiss. You see when all you have known is loneliness and pain; you kind of don’t know how to let it go. I carried all this with me to my 20’s.My little heart was afraid to restart and pick up the shattered pieces. I denied myself heaven. It was never possible for someone like me.

Frantically, I searched for an escape from my own thoughts. ‘I am just going to sniff a bag,’ that is how it started, how it always starts. And for a few hours, I would feel invincible, like I was in another dimension. A dimension where my parents never abandoned me, where I didn’t have to carry the scars of being bullied, where my sexuality and my religion did not make me a target and where people were actually human.

It then progressed to, ‘if you’re going to sniff, you might as well pop it, if you’re going to pop it you might as well as mainline.’ I constantly promised myself that I was going to keep it under control. That I was never going to be one of these drug junkies passed out in the bathroom. That’s what we all think. That it’s just a Saturday thing, a chippie, small habit. It makes you feel so good about yourself you start doing it on Mondays… and Thursdays, then boom! It got you.

It all happens so fast. The next five years of my life were spent in and out of rehab. You try so damn hard to get sober, if not for you at least for the ones you love but then life hits you so much harder the next time and you’re at it again. Every single little thing is a trigger.

I watched her heart break over me for a thousand times and there was nothing I could do about it. I woke up a thousand times in a hospital room because of an overdose. I apologized to myself a thousand times for letting myself down.

I tried. I tried so fucking hard to stop and I lost the fucking battle.

Deep down I knew how it would end for me. A heroine filled syringe deep in my peripheral vein, an empty alcohol bottle by my side, with my little wolf, Andrea hovering over my sweating and shaking body begging me not to let go, to just hold on for a little while longer.

And for one last time, I would remember. I would remember the bully who would lock me in my locker for hours. I would remember my parents casting me out. I would remember every time I was rejected for a job I was well qualified for simply because of my religion. I would remember my attempted suicide at 17. I would remember the guy who spat at me when I was five. I would remember how cold his saliva felt on my forehead. I would remember Andrea, and all her love and how perfect she was. I would REMEMBER, and then my eyes would shut. I would know peace.

Drugs didn’t kill me. It was a cruel world full of hate and discrimination that did.

And that is my truth.

The misfit,

Kalea.

Andrea wiped a tear with the back of her hand.

A sob or two came from the crowd.

Three well built men pushed the boat into the lake.

***
It sailed gracefully in the calm waters. Keana, the best shooter in the small town of Blue dale kept a tight grip on the bow handle. She dipped the gasoline laced tip of the arrow in the lit bonfire next to her and placed the now flaming arrow on the bow. She turned the bow so that it now lay horizontally with the arrow facing the boat. She positioned her right hand fingers on the string and tucked her shoulder length pink dyed hair behind her left ear. Slowly she returned her left hand on the bow supporting it on its horizontal position and pulled back the string with her magical fingers. Her back muscles slightly twitched.

Shoot.

The arrow hit the lower end of the boat setting it on fire. They watched her body turn into ashes and drift away with the waves. Like the lake itself, there was so much more to Kalea but like most of us are conditioned to do, we only judge based on the surface.

Andrea walked into the lake until the water had covered her head. She felt it suffocate her as it filled her nostrils. She did not want to know how the world would be like without her darling. Her lifeless body floated on the lake and drifted away in the direction of Kalea’s ashes. They would meet on the other side, and they would be happy, forever. Shaking her head back to reality, Andrea pushed away her dark thoughts. she choose to live, if not for Kalea, then for all those lost souls who thought they were nothing more than their mistakes, struggles and differences; For all the people who were cast aside and discriminated upon, maybe because of the colour of their skin, their religion or their sexuality. She chose to live for them, because somebody needed to be there for them and remind them that they were not alone, it gets better. She was going to keep the light on.

She did live long on…and was famously known as the black widow, saviour of cracked souls. The little wolf wasn’t so little after all.

THE END

AUTHORS NOTE

God I have missed you guyyys❤ 😂 I was not actually busy idk what I have been doing with my life, listening to offset and re watching the Originals perhaps?. Sometimes we tend to forget what’s important. Did you enjoy the story?? I would appreciate your feedback so much😊 comment below, like, share, subscribe,do whatever🙌. I love you and thank you for reading!!!

PART TWO: WHIPS AND ORGASMS

Continuation… yay to part two kinky little fellas…

“Your safe word is bunny,” he said as slapped the whip on my bare ass.

“Lovers don’t need safe words,” I reply as the pain surges through my body.

Every sensation was heightened considering the position I was in. My face was lying against the white cotton sheets with the grey suit tie acting as a perfect blindfold. (God I loved how the sheets felt against my skin!) My hands were handcuffed together on my perfectly arched back.

My bare ass was in the air free for his manipulation. The angle was incredible.

Nothing felt more uplifting than sitting there waiting for daddy’s next strike. Nothing was more euphoric than him hurting me sweetly then patting my head and calling me his good little puppy.

Daddy got me… and I understood that.

I felt his hands caress my side boobs gently then proceed to clamp my nipples. I faintly yelped in amusement. He held on to the clamps and pushed them downwards gently stretching my nipples. Just before I could take it all in I felt the paddle strike meet my bare ass again, and again, and again.

Holy shimoli!

He dropped down the whip and caressed my ass with his bare hands then kissed them softly bringing me a soothing feeling.

“Your such a good little girl.” He said in praise as he let loose the handcuffs and the blindfold.

My emerald green eyes focused on him as he tied me up in a different position. He had faultless toned abs and a scar that ran across his lower left breast. I wanted to ask about that scar, the events that had led to its existence, but now was not the time. My eyes then landed on the deep v right before the line of his pants.

That was definitely difficult to miss.

He handcuffed my hands on both sides of the bed, spread my legs apart then proceeded to firmly tie them to the protruding ends at the corners of the bed with ropes.

He got on top of me without putting all his weight on me. He leant over and ran his tongue up the side of my neck. He kissed his way up and gently nibbled on my ear, biting down on the lobes. I could feel his hard dick pressing against my inner thigh. His mouth found mine and I moaned as his tongue ran across my lips.

He took off the nipple clamps and put one nipple in his mouth. He licked it in circles as his hand played with the other, twisting it and caressing it with his thumb. My chest arched up modestly as sensation built up inside me.

I had never wanted someone this bad in my life.

He kissed my tummy as his tongue worked its way down to my glory land. I felt the tip of his tongue touch my vagina and circle the sensitive area in increasing tempo. I tried to squeeze my legs together but the ropes did their job quite well. His hands were placed firmly on each side of my flushed hips as he continued to work his tongue tornado on my lady parts. He slowed the pace of his tongue and slowly slipped it inside wiggling it just a little bit.

“I want you inside me babe,” I yelled in between moans.

“So wonderfully desperate little lover,” he answered.

I was dripping wet, yearning for him. Every ounce of me was craving for him.

“Oh master, please me with your cock” I screamed in the appropriate BDSM language.

He opened the bedside drawer and pulled out a condom. He let his sweatpants and his boxers drop and I take in the full sight of his completely naked body. The length and thickness of him is insane. He tears the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolls it on.

I watched as he slapped my clitoris with his hard dick and push it inside, the full length of him filling me. My pussy felt like a vice around his cock. I let out an excited gasp. He pulled back and thrusted back in. His pace gradually increased. I wanted to dig my nails deep in his back flesh but the clinging sound of the handcuffs as they hit the bed wood acted as a reminder of the helpless position I was in. He pushed out and gave my vagina a soft rub with his tip.

“What does daddy’s little puppy need?”

“I want you to fuck me harder Mr Parker.” I reply as I looked into his eyes.

He pushed back into me and thrusted harder and faster bringing me closer to my unravelling. I was completely wrecked below him with my hips lunging forward trying to get in every possible inch of him.

I could feel his sweat slicked skin touch mine with every downward thrust and his hands squeeze my ass harder.

My cuffed hands made a destitute effort to grasp onto the sheets, or just anything. He put a hand over my mouth to shush out my screaming and gave me all he had left.

This orgasm is going to be life changing.

I could feel every muscle in me tighten. Shit Jamie. My hips and legs were one uncontrollable mess.I could feel the ropes tighten around my legs making my release even hotter.

He came a little later after me and put all his weight on me as he heaved heavily. We both actually were panting trying to catch a breath.

It could literally never get better than this.

***

The morning rays penetrated through the turquoise blue curtain drapes creating a soft halo around him that made him look utterly gorgeous. I took in his scent as I wrapped my body around his. We fit together like a puzzle. He looked so peaceful in his sleep. He opened his coffee brown eyes and met mine. I put my fingers on his lips and traced an upward frown.

A smile.

“How long have you been watching me sleep?”

“Long enough,” I replied in between playful giggles.

“Last night was perfect. You are perfect. I love you Katelyn Kerry.”

“I love you too Jamie parker.”

Authors note;

🙌 I am very proud of self because for once I actually did right by you readers. I really do hope that you’ve enjoyed the remaining part of story as much as you enjoyed the first part.

Worthy mention; My girl kerry was so ecstatic about this piece in general so I named the female character after her.😂
My heart goes out to all of you for your continued support. Happy weekend!!

❤❤

PART ONE: WHIPS AND ORGASMS

❎PARENTAL ADVISORY; SEXUALLY GRAPHIC CONTENT!!

I slowly opened the huge Prussian blue wooden bathroom door and splendidly stepped out.I wanted to make it as melodramatic as possible, like in the movies.I had dressed in a black sheer open- crotch pantyhose hoisted to a tiny black lacy hot pant that gave a glorious view of my ass cheeks. I had a non-lined matching black vintage lace bra to complete the look. An expensive half-moon shaped silver pendant hang impeccably above my cleavage. I pushed my shoulder height box braids backwards with one hand to give him a clearer look, as the other hand gently traced the edges of my vampire red lips with my rosy slender fingers in ultimate seduction.

He was surely going to get a taste tonight.

“You like it pappi?” I asked in a low hushed kind of sensual voice.

“Holy fuck you sexy little devil, you look AMAZING!” He responded with slight shock still in his voice.

I walked over to the huge mahogany bed where he had been working on his laptop for the past one hour or so. I put the laptop on the bedside top and sat on top of him. His eyes gave me a lusty look that made my entire body come alive. He unhurriedly traced the edges of my chin with his fingers without loosing eye contact. He slipped his index finger in my mouth and I gave it a Soft bite.

“Fuck it.” I heard him mutter under his breath as he drew me closer towards him.

I could smell his oriental spicy fragrance with floral hints of Jasmine. Fuck he smelled so good. Our lips locked in one intense passionate kiss. I could taste the peppermint on his lips as his tongue pierced through my mouth. I took off his shirt in a flip second and pressed my petite body harder against his. I rotated my hips in circular motions and grinded against his hard cock. He had his hand tightly gripping my hair while the other grabbed my ass.

He let out a small groan and grabbed my ass even harder. Our kiss broke as Jamie brought me under him in swift motion. He kissed my neck and nibbled on the sensitive part of my ear. I could feel my breathing rate spiking and my heart racing wild. His hand slipped up my bra and he twisted my hard nipple between his fingers. My head fell back and a moan managed to escape my vocals. His hand left my nipple and made its way between my legs. He rubbed my lady parts over the thin fabric of my panties.

He slipped his manly hands under my hot pant and slowly teased my clitoris at an agonizing pace. My hips instantaneously began to move in sync with his rhythm. He captured my moans with his mouth and slid a finger inside me. I could swear I felt the fireworks explode right through me. He slid in a second and third finger and continued to rub my clit with his thumb.

God I love this man.

“Say it. Tell me you want me to make you cum.” He demands as he quickens the speed of his hands.

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. The feeling was too much it was getting harder to handle.

Shit shit shit

He promptly stopped, looked into my eyes and in the sexiest voice ever whispered,

“Give me a minute, then we can play the real game ”

He vanished into the closet room for a while. I had no idea what he was up to but damn, I knew my body was needing him this very minute.

He reappeared holding a couple of items that had me gasping. In one hand he held two handcuffs, a rope and nipple clamps while on the other he had a dark grey suit tie and a whip. He smirked when he saw the shock on my face.

“Fuck vanilla sex.” He said cockily.

Fuck vanilla sex??

“Allow me to tame you and make you all mine,” and there came the smirk again.

Boy you are either kidding or totally insane.

“Undress for me love,” he demanded. “I wont do anything you are uncomfortable with,” he added after seeing the resilient look on my face.

I thought about it for a couple of seconds and unclasped my bra. I then proceeded to slowly slide my panties off. I lay there naked in all vulnerability with my thighs squeezed together.

“Now play with yourself,”he shot another order.

I slid my fingers up the soft skin of my inner thighs and rubbed over my clitoris. My other hand stopped just before my perky breasts and I ran one finger back and forth in turns causing my nipples to become even harder. I slid one finger inside me and let out a faint gasp. I closed my eyes to take in the full feeling. I spread my legs open further and slid in a second finger. I move my hips with the rhythm of my fingers.I bite my lower lip and let out another gasp, a bit louder this time. There was something so ravishing about watching him watch me pleasure myself that made me squirm in carnal excitement. My head tilted back and my chest slightly lifted up.

“Oh God Jamie, tie me the fuck up am fucking ready.”

***

To be continued…

Authors note;

Darlings, it is I😂kendi the inconsistent fuck. But its 2019 and I promise I will get my shit together and write often. Cheers to the new year guys!! This piece was a bit different from the norm. I hope you liked it though. Part two coming up this very friday, yaaaay. Comment your feels below and don’t forget to follow, like and shaaaare!! I love you all❤❤

NB; totally not a personal story rather a “BDSM who can write it better” challenge from a fellow writer @afrobandit

ALL THE KIDS ARE DEPRESSED

Saved from tumbler.com

***

Of troubled souls seeking peace,

Of bleeding hearts craving healing,

Of words that were never spoken,

Of issues that we are too afraid to talk about openly;mental health matters.

2AM in the freaking morning.

I lay in my bed covered in my black and white soft blankie like a corpse, feeling my soul fade away into the darkness. Thoughts, self loathing thoughts linger in my very messed up brain. I feel worthless, unwanted, unloved. I sit up and open my black Hp laptop. I try to write a blog post but I can’t seem to find the words. I open up a book but find myself re reading the first paragraph over and over with no fruitful progress. I feel intense loneliness like I never have before and constantly wish to fall asleep before my life falls apart.

I cry because of my inability to deal with my own emotions. How the hell would anybody else be able to help me if I was clueless about my own feelings? I quickly wipe my tears with the palm of my hand and pretend that am in control. At this point a stray thought crosses my mind and I think about all the peace that death would bring. I imagine slicing my wrist in one swift motion, or popping a vessel in my brain and watching the crimson red liquid ooze out of me as it carries all my unwanted pain, emotions, thoughts and demons.

But I choose to sleep instead. Even in death I am still a coward.

A day passes, a week, a month. It really never gets any better.

Its not depression per say, honestly I don’t know what word to give it. Its a space, a negative space that does not allow me to be the best version of myself. Its the intense fear of failure that I quit before I even begin. Its the complete lack of urge to be productive. Its the living in self doubt for so long that it feels like am trapped in a never ending loop of mental torture.

I know its worse for some people. It may not be full blown for me, but I get it, and I know its hard. So I will let my words bleed for you guys.

Saved from instagram.com

Dear depression,

Its like you are everywhere,all at the same time. I close my eyes and all I see is darkness. Dreadful darkness. My heart beats faintly in my chest because I know that I am scared. Scared that I never really will be okay. Scared that I never will fully belong. Scared that the devil will never stop pounding my head on both sides. I feel defeated every time you keep pushing me down no matter how hard I try to stand on my feeble legs.

You are the contradicting thoughts that clog my unfiltered mind. You are the silent whispers feeding my soul with negativity. You are the reason I drink too much just to find a temporary escape, or maybe sleep all day and do nothing.

You are the cigarette burns that stain my inner thighs.

You are the mirror that seems to reflect all my flaws.

You are my fragile self esteem.

No matter how perfect life is, you still find a way to make me feel like crap. You still manage to convince me that am only as strong as you make me feel. Its frustrating how I believe every single lie you feed me.

You make it seem like falling apart so easily is okay.

But hear me depression, you might have taken a piece of me yesterday but today I fought you and I won. I beat you when I got out of my bed and participated in life again. I beat you when I looked in the mirror and acknowledged that even with my scars I was preety much perfect. I beat you when I found the courage to face my own monsters. I beat you when I chose to put my heart on paper and help others fight their demons too.

Deep down I know that you will be back. That the emptiness will never really go away, that the demons will be back when darkness sets in, that you will always be there; in my bed, in my writing, in my love, in my sadness, in my tears, in my smile, in typically everything I do. That you are me, you reign inside.

But today I smile in my victory because I fought you and I fucking kicked your ass.

Yours truly,

The struggling human.

🌸🌸

Saved from instagram.com

To all those with mental illnesses, I know you feel trapped in a world where hearts are cracked. I know that your paper skin is imprinted with faded stories that no one wants to read. I acknowledge the dismal greys that your lonely eyes hold. That every passing day its increasingly getting harder to tell what is heaven and what is hell. But however bad the situation is, its time to let your cold hearts melt, its time you learn to enjoy your utterly imperfect stars. Its time to give yourselves credit for the little achievements with the very same zeal you try to tear yourselves apart.

You are worth more that your diagnosis, and yes, broken and torn you could still be stars.

I love you.

Am here for you.

I care.

Saved from javjenia.tumbler.com

Authors note:

Crappy hell, been gone for so long mates😢😢. Am sorry am one inconsistent ass guys, we are all trying out here ain’t we😂?? I really do hope that this piece appealed to your deepest emotions people. Like mental health is an issue and we need to do something about it before more lives are lost. Watch out for your friends, learn to be there, to be kind to all souls out here. And incase you are struggling, its okay to not be okay, reach out😊😊we can beat this together.

Happy Wednesday loves!!!

💙💙

~This blog post was inspired by James zuckers song “All the kids are depressed” great song you should listen guys.🙌🙌

THE MOMENT AFTER

Late November somewhere in Lower Statehouse…

Pintrest image saved from instagram.com

My unbuttoned achromic medical lab coat was flying mid air as I quickly made my was past the exit of the somewhat dilapidated biochemistry laboratory. My vision was blurry because of the tears welling up in my eyes threatening to pour out. I was walking hurriedly with no particular destination. His words kept on replaying in my mind, like a damned cassette tape that just wouldn’t stop. I bumped into a person or two and heard their faint sounds as they told me to watch it, but I just kept on unapologetically walking and walking. My howls of misery intensifying with each step I took.

The buckles holding my knees unlatched and I forgot how to stand up. I stretched out my trembling hand and held onto an unfinished concrete block in the parking lot over viewing Chiromo river for support. It was low enough for me to sit on it and so I did. There is a first time for everything, and my heart was breaking for the very first time. Hearts can break, bloody hell they can. Sometimes I think it would be better if we died when they did, because sharp are the arrows of a broken heart.

I pressed my forehead hard against my sweaty palms and with the little strength I had in me completely fading away, I let it all out. I could feel the salty tear drops running down my cheeks in one flawless and unbroken stroke staining my washed out lab coat. At the moment, I did not care about the people passing by looking at me like I was broken, or that I had always been messy while grieving and thats why I had always cried in bathrooms and behind locked doors before, I did not care. I let myself cry a river of bitter tears, those of a wretched soul torn to pieces by ended love.

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They say that you only love once with innocence, and at that exact moment, it felt like all my innocence had been ruthlessly stripped away from me.

Nothing in this forsaken world had prepared me for it.

In the midst of my sobs, I felt someone place a hand on my shoulder. I paused my crying and slowly turned around to see my best friend standing there worried sick that I had completely lost it.

“You are not okay,” she said as she raised both her hands to wipe the tears falling on both sides of my cheeks with her cotton soft fingers and pulled me over for a warm embrace.

“I loved him, I really did, and all he…all he did was just fu…fuck me over. He… he did not even have the courage to tell me to my face he just sent a lame text about how he can’t do this anymore, an…and how he never really felt anything for me.” I responded in between sobs.

“We are going to pull through this together, I am here for you.” She said with certainty in her tone as she gently rubbed my back in circular motions.

For the rest of the afternoon, she sat right beside me as I told her the story of my first love. The one who had fought so hard grappling the demons in my heart and silencing the monsters in my mind, but also the one who had crushed my young heart so effortlessly without a gun to his head. I told her of how much I was hurting and how afraid I was that I was never going to be the same again despite me constantly telling myself that I was going to be alright, or that maybe I would never find another who would touch my world and tame all my valiant storms the way he had.

Pintrest image saved from 500px.com

The heart heals and life moves on. The saddest part though is the moment after, the emotional scars that remain. There is more to breaking a woman’s heart than most men realize. As victims of someone else’s mistakes it’s harder to accept the pain being inflicted. It destroys her outlook on love, rips her self esteem to shreds, tortures her mind and damages her soul. I spent most of my time after that asking myself why I was never good enough for him and why he had let me fall if he never really had the intention of picking me up. I led myself to believe that maybe he left without a reason because I was not worthy of an explanation. I cried myself to sleep at night and hopelessly searched for love in all the wrong people, anyone who could love me even just a little.

I denied myself heaven because he made me believe love was not possible for a person like me.

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Why would anyone be so cruel to awaken someone’s love if they have no intention of truly loving them? Why would we want to go around leaving a trace of broken and damaged souls for the next person to come and clean up your mess? What is so wrong with loving with honesty? Why are we so un bothered being the reason for someone else’s tears? My heart bleeds for this generation, and I will never apologise for loving hard like we still in the 60’s.

To all those love damaged souls out there. Begin again. Let go of all that hurt that you have been building up inside, all that pain and self doubt that keeps you up at 3AM. Why do you insist so much on holding on to the pain, the very thing that keeps you from hope and love? There’s absolutely nothing you can do about yesterday, its not yours to judge. Learn instead to appreciate those who are trying to teach you that love still exists even after you thought it never could.

Set yourself free. Leave your shoes behind not so that they can find you, but to let them know that darling you were meant to run with calloused feet.

Saved from ban.do

A/N

My looooovely people…been off for a lot longer than I anticipated, but oh well...am here now, with all my feels in place. I hope you enjoyed the story, and if so, drop me a comment down below on the comment section and shaaaare 😊😊🌸. My heart beats for you guys, you honestly give me life. Much love and lovely rest of the week.❤❤

Pure hearts speak a universal language ~kindness.

faraway.