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thinking of you.
The sound of my guitar fills my ears as I shut my eyes and sing my song obsession of the moment. Every week it’s always something different was what he told me. He told me that I had talent. He told me I would make it. He told me I could sing. He loved to hear me sing. He loved to hear me play my guitar.
He loved my writing. He loved the songs I wrote.
He was the spark in my life. He made everything seem so much better than it was. He was my support. The rock I needed. Right when I thought of giving up on everything,
He was there to stop me and support me.
Unlike so many people in my life, he believed in me.
He had faith in me.
Which was why he was my first and the reason why I loved him. To me, he was perfect. Even though he smoked pot and had tattoos, I didn’t think any of it. To every girl, their
First love was perfect.
That was why I loved him though. In my eyes, he was perfect. He was so intelligent and he dreamed big just like me. His tattoos he said were scars of his past, words, phrases, and symbols of his past. He had tattoos on his arms and back and I would always run my hands over them, feeling the smooth dark ink in his skin.
Going back in time, living those moments with him.
Which was why he told me that he loved me. He said I was different from other girls he met. He told me that he felt that I knew him. He felt that we were meant to be.
He said all of this right before that accident, that accident that changed everything.
Something he kept a secret from me was that his father abused him. Ever since he was four years old.
I found-out after the accident occurred.
His father was a businessman and rarely spent anytime with his family but he always got into rough fights with his wife. That was one thing he told me that bothered him. How his parents never got along yet they never got a divorce, afraid that they’re family would fall apart.
His family consisted of him, his mom and dad, and three sisters and two brothers. They had a big family and lived in a nice condo in Manhattan due to his father being a businessman.
Though with him being the oldest, he was always given the rough side of every situation that went down. Which meant the constant beating and yelling from his father.
His father had anger issues and whenever he was pissed about something, he would let it out on him. It was horrible.
Which led to the accident when he turned twenty-one. He always told me he was ready to move out of the house, away from all of the problems and drama. Though, he always remained because of the youngest in his family, which was his ten-year old, little sister. Since his little sister was the last one born, she was always forgotten amongst everyone.
She was the odd one out of the bunch, they would say. He thought different though. He was tried to be there for her and recently, she got in a fight in school and a few girls who were being bullies to her beat her up and broke the glasses she wore.
He was infuriated and that day, once he found-out his parents were doing nothing about it and living like everything was normal, he went off. His father started beating at him right in front of everyone and that whole fight, ended up to being a shooting.
His father shot him twice.
One in his stomach.
The other in his heart.
He had a slow but painful death. Lying on the floor, his family screaming around him.
I was there and witnessed it all. At first, I was in denial that he was actually shot by his own father but once I heard the screaming I realized this was no sad movie, this was reality.
Then, I ran to him and screamed for him to stay awake.
I remember my hands and legs being covered in blood as I cried on his chest, pleading for him to remain awake.
I remember his eyes. A clear blue that leaked tears and stared right through me. It was as if he was reading my mind.
My mind was thinking of what would happen if he left me.
Then, he grabbed my head with his hands and forced my head down to his dry lips and he kissed me.
It was the best kiss I ever had in my life and it was a kiss I will never forget and whenever he would come into my mind, I would still be able to feel the kiss linger on my lips.
After he parted, he whispered in my ear, his last three words that I’ll never forget and will forever haunt me.
“I love you.”
He loved my writing. He loved the songs I wrote.
He was the spark in my life. He made everything seem so much better than it was. He was my support. The rock I needed. Right when I thought of giving up on everything,
He was there to stop me and support me.
Unlike so many people in my life, he believed in me.
He had faith in me.
Which was why he was my first and the reason why I loved him. To me, he was perfect. Even though he smoked pot and had tattoos, I didn’t think any of it. To every girl, their
First love was perfect.
That was why I loved him though. In my eyes, he was perfect. He was so intelligent and he dreamed big just like me. His tattoos he said were scars of his past, words, phrases, and symbols of his past. He had tattoos on his arms and back and I would always run my hands over them, feeling the smooth dark ink in his skin.
Going back in time, living those moments with him.
Which was why he told me that he loved me. He said I was different from other girls he met. He told me that he felt that I knew him. He felt that we were meant to be.
He said all of this right before that accident, that accident that changed everything.
Something he kept a secret from me was that his father abused him. Ever since he was four years old.
I found-out after the accident occurred.
His father was a businessman and rarely spent anytime with his family but he always got into rough fights with his wife. That was one thing he told me that bothered him. How his parents never got along yet they never got a divorce, afraid that they’re family would fall apart.
His family consisted of him, his mom and dad, and three sisters and two brothers. They had a big family and lived in a nice condo in Manhattan due to his father being a businessman.
Though with him being the oldest, he was always given the rough side of every situation that went down. Which meant the constant beating and yelling from his father.
His father had anger issues and whenever he was pissed about something, he would let it out on him. It was horrible.
Which led to the accident when he turned twenty-one. He always told me he was ready to move out of the house, away from all of the problems and drama. Though, he always remained because of the youngest in his family, which was his ten-year old, little sister. Since his little sister was the last one born, she was always forgotten amongst everyone.
She was the odd one out of the bunch, they would say. He thought different though. He was tried to be there for her and recently, she got in a fight in school and a few girls who were being bullies to her beat her up and broke the glasses she wore.
He was infuriated and that day, once he found-out his parents were doing nothing about it and living like everything was normal, he went off. His father started beating at him right in front of everyone and that whole fight, ended up to being a shooting.
His father shot him twice.
One in his stomach.
The other in his heart.
He had a slow but painful death. Lying on the floor, his family screaming around him.
I was there and witnessed it all. At first, I was in denial that he was actually shot by his own father but once I heard the screaming I realized this was no sad movie, this was reality.
Then, I ran to him and screamed for him to stay awake.
I remember my hands and legs being covered in blood as I cried on his chest, pleading for him to remain awake.
I remember his eyes. A clear blue that leaked tears and stared right through me. It was as if he was reading my mind.
My mind was thinking of what would happen if he left me.
Then, he grabbed my head with his hands and forced my head down to his dry lips and he kissed me.
It was the best kiss I ever had in my life and it was a kiss I will never forget and whenever he would come into my mind, I would still be able to feel the kiss linger on my lips.
After he parted, he whispered in my ear, his last three words that I’ll never forget and will forever haunt me.
“I love you.”
