I always wanted to see the moon. Ever since I was younger, I used to stay awake at night, laying in bed. When I was scared, I would look at the moon. When I was tired, I would look at the moon. Under many circumstances, looking at that small white sphere in the dark sky would make me feel better. I used to say when I would grow up I would fly to the moon, and make it up there, God would help me. I dreamed of it every night, and wrote about it, drew pictures of it. My whole family well knew I was huge about the moon.
In my school years, I encountered the hard life of bullying. I would go home and cry, and look out at the moon and feel better. But it honestly wasn't good enough.
When I turned 14, I wanted nothing more than to disappear. I didn't care about the moon much anymore, it was just a fucking stupid thing in the sky, right?
After I couldn't do this anymore, the Moon would just.... be there. Nothing.
But when I stood up on the chair in my bedroom, I for once actually physically felt better. I looked straight at the moon, tears down my face. While maintaining the looking at it, my tears kept coming and going. Sobbing, I kept looking at the moon. I kicked the chair out from under my feet.
At least you'd be able to say, I died looking at the moon.
YOU ARE READING
Dearest Broken.
Teen Fiction*TRIGGER WARNING* Collection of letters to those who fell out of or into love, when not mutual. Fictional, just may make you cry.... Includes death of loved ones, self harm, abuse, etc. Warning.
