IDK what I did. It just came flowing out of me.

Read at your own risk.

And please don't cry.

And no, this... whatever I did has nothing to do with me. As I said before, IDK what I have done.

Love, I hate it and are thankful for it.

Why do you might ask? Because it was the reason that my heart is split into millions of fractured pieces, thrown away toward a pit of nothingness, 'till it strained to the point of being gone eternally.

I am 6 years old.

It was the love I held for my dog.

He died, and I didn't get to say goodbye.

My heart was slashed, it left a scar. But you could scarcely notice it.

I am 9 years old.

It was the love I had for my home.

We moved, and I had to leave my friends and begin a new life. I never did see them again.

I cried as we left the neighboorhood.

My heart ripped but did not fall apart.

I am 15 years old.

It was the love I had for my friends.

The ones I thought would stay with me to my grave.

That didn't happen though.

I heard them giggling away in delight at a phone. I know now it was about me.

The day following, I left school early after witnessing the eyes of a million people looking at me.

Looking.

Laughing.

Whispering. 

I saw them hanging out with the people I'd never seen before. Or people I hated.

Next thing you know, I'm stranded at the restaurant we always go to on Friday nights because they both cancelled to go to a party.

They didn't tell me about the party 'till after the party ended.

I overheard them talk about me, about things I've never done before.

I'm sobbing in the bathroom.

Now, they avoid me, and I'm fine with that.

That's a lie I tell myself every day.

When my brother found out, he promised me that he would always be there for me even when others weren't.

My heart was at the last of its seams.

I am 19 years old.

It was my romantic love.

That one night, I walked along that dusty path, trees looming above me, as I felt shivers go down my spine, barely being able to see in the terrifying blackness of the night. 

Then, I saw them. 

Intangled with each other, looking into each other's eyes him and I once did. A look of undying trust and love. 

I ran away, tears escaping my eyes, rolling down my face.

He called me on the phone the next day, saying he wanted to talk about something, but I ended the call and stared at the ever-growing blackness of my phone.

My heart broke. And it couldn't be mended.

I am 27 years old.

It was the love I held for my family.

My parents promised they would love each other forever.

My dad started drinking too much.

Next thing you know, I was at our annual Christmas party and my mom throws my dad out for hitting my brother.

My mom went into a deep depression, I barely spoke with her.

My brother moved to the other side of the world.

He couldn't be around his damaged family anymore.

He promised he would always be there for me.

My heart a been shredded.

I am 36 years old.

I found out I was pregnant.

I found out who the father was.

He refused to acknowledge my existence.

I was left stranded on the street.

Realization dawned upon me.

I was in this alone.

Alone.

Alone in this wretched world.

Alone.

My heart's pieces have been scattered across the empty void.

I will soon be 55 years old.

It will be the love I have for my daughter.

I watched her leave my house, walking farther and farther away, 'till she was only a tiny dot, a speck of existence.

She left for college.

She said she was never coming back.

She said she didn't love me.

That she should've never been born.

She cursed her father.

She cursed me.

When had I gone wrong?

Then she was gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Every day I look at her photos on the wall.

I receive a short letter once a year from her.

I am alone once more.

My heart does not know where it is anymore. It is shattered and scattered beyond repair, and I cannot gather the pieces back together.

I will soon be 89 years old.

I will be on the brink of departing this world.

This horrible, gruesome, horrid world.

I look around the blank room of the hospital.

No one visited me.

No one came.

I am still alone.

But, it doesn't mean I didn't forget.

I remember the way my dog would wag his tail, jump up and down like he knew something nobody else did.

I remember when my friends and I would talk over the phone for hours at a time, laughing in delight, talking about nothing in particular, but at the same time, it all mattered.

I remember his brilliant blue eyes that would widen and sparkle like the morning sun whenever he saw me, and how he would hold my hand when I needed courage.

I remember my dad spinning me around, and I was flying.

Flying far away, from all my problems.

I remember teaching her to ride a bike.

She kept falling down and crying.

But I kept encouraging her, kept putting up the bike, saying, "Don't give up! Don't lose hope!"

Perhaps I should've listened to that advice.

Perhaps I should've got a new pet.

Perhaps I should've met new friends.

Perhaps I should've met someone who cared about me as much as I cared about them.

Perhaps I should've made more of an effort to keep my family together.

Perhaps I should've kept all my burdens to myself and not put them all on my daughter's shoulder, keeping her trapped in an old woman's house.

I understand why she didn't want to come back.

Who would want to stay with someone's who's heart was shattered to pieces?

But when I closed my eyes for the last time, all I saw was the people that I loved.

That's why I hate it.

Because even though I thought nobody loved me, I still loved them. 

I let the darkness consume me so that I would be brought back to the light.

Perhaps my heart was broken, but my soul will forever be intact.

I was dead by morning.

If I had stayed alive longer, I would've seen my two grandchildren for the first time look confusingly at there mother as to why she was crying at the seemingly stranger whose body was being taken away.

They cried when they heard who I was.

She told them I was a good mother.

She grieved because she knew she left that same mother all alone.

I would've seen my brother, who arrived not long after.

His whole family came too.

He didn't cry when my dad left.

He didn't cry when my mom died.

But he cried when I died because he knew he broke his promise.

If I had stayed alive longer, I would have seen all the people that I had touched. They said that I was a broken woman, but I managed to love the people at my work, at schools, and at home.

I loved them, I just didn't realize they loved me back.

My ex-boyfriend came to the funeral.

He told my brother that he didn't date anyone for 10 years after I hung up on him multiple times because he realized that I was the only one he ever truly loved and that he had made a mistake that one night. He told him that he yearned that we had kept in touch. At the time he had believed that he didn't deserve to be loved. 

I would've told him otherwise.

My old friends never came, but some of the ones who sat at the back of the class did.

They said I had always been kind to them. They wanted to return the favour.

Yes, I was broken, I never had a good life.

But, I loved people still, even if they never loved me or stopped loving me back.

I died in peace, not because I knew that I was leaving my horrid life, but because I knew that I did something good in this awful unfair world.

Perhaps this world isn't as terrible as it seems.

All around you, there is darkness. 

But, there are flickers light from torches that stand up against the dark.

Find them.

They are the last stand of hope we have left. 

Everyone deserves to be loved, even if you feel like nobody loves you.

Author's Note

Sorry guys. This isn't an update. I'm working on that though, don't worry.

Did I make this up in 3 hours? Maybe...

Please take this message to heart. Although, I have no idea where this sad thing I have made came from.

What did you think?

WAS IT WELL WRITTEN?

update soon!

Your awesome friendly author who doesn't know where this sad thing came from,

N.C