@trueblu3: you didn't get yourself killed.
unfortunately not. it's not like you haven't come close, having lost track of the amount of times you've watched your own blood pour out of an open wound, wondering if maybe, you'll finally get lucky. but luck's never been on your side, has it? and so here you are, still alive, still breathing, even if only by the absolute loosest definition.
strangely enough, your close calls with death aren't your main concern for once. it's her. it's been years, and while all the drugs and alcohol you poison yourself with are usually enough to make you forget the people that have come and gone, you haven't forgotten her. it wasn't love, because you never let yourself get that close, because you've made the mistake of falling for a girl too good for you before, and you weren't stupid enough to make it again — but maybe one day it could have been, if only you gave the two of you more time.
“ you look different. ” wrong, somehow, though you can't place your finger on why. it almost reminds you of when you'd catch glimpses of yourself shortly after the death of your family — back when you still looked like yourself, not completely ridden with scars, and at the same time, like a complete stranger. it's something about her eyes. they're sadder, you think, and if you were a better person, it might break your heart, remembering the way she was back then. but you've been hardened by the fire, heart blackened and charred, so you can't afford any sympathy, even for her.
“ — it's kind of hot. ”
