he helped.

my uncle took his own life at 20 years old.

his brother hasn't stopped drinking since the day his best friend took a gun to his forehead. 

my mom was 17 and she said a part of her died that day.

my grandma lives with her sons death every day of her life.

been on 20 different types on anti depressants.

but anti depressants don't fix a life.

the pills may help for a moment but a few hours after the shallow the pain comes back again.

one life taken messes up many lives that are just trying to live.

i'm not saying it's selfish.

i'm saying it hurts.

a few hours after the swallow the pain comes back again.

but a few hours without pain is better than no hours.

my grandmas pills don't fix all her pain. 

but they help.

smiling at someone in the hallway sure doesn't fix their life.

but it helps.

i woke up with a bloody nose at 3am last night.

my dad got out of bed and hugged me and i can't remember the last time he did.

his hug didn't stop the blood from sliding down my throat.

but it helped.

and i didn't know him. I never talked to him once. I just knew that he had long blonde hair and he smiled at me in the hallway one morning. 

and i remember because the night before was a rough one

and his smile helped that moment in my day,

it helped.  

But I did know him. 

Our choir teacher in middle school told me I sang too quietly. That I didn't speak loud enough for anyone to hear.

And she told me that if I don't start to speak up people won't want to listen to me.

He leaned over and said "I love your voice."

I'll always remember that. 

I'll always remember them

And him

And the uncle that I've never met.

I still talk quietly

people tell me that I need to speak up all the time

But he heard me 

 he made me feel important 

He told me that he loved my voice

It didn't make me talk louder

It didn't change my voice 

But it helped

He heard me

He helped .

i don't think that's too much to ask.

 i left my creative writing journal in the kitchen and my mom read it last night.

she read every single swear word, every word about him and my brother and she read the page titled "my parents don't even love each other."

she told me she was sorry that i've never known if she loved my dad.

she told me sorry for all the mornings their screaming woke me up.

and she told me sorry that i'd rather be in my car than be at home.

even though the heater makes the interior smell like i'm roasting a burnt marshmallow,

i'd rather sit in there than sit under a roof of yells and fake love. 

why does love stop?

when does love stop?

the book stops at 408 pages

the marathon stops at 26.2 miles 

the song stops at 3 minuets and 15 seconds. 

the movie told me that love never stops

it's always constant

always there

always beautiful

never dying

never ending

my best friends parents were high school sweethearts 

they couldn't spend a second apart 

but somewhere along the way their love died

they're divorced now

he has another wife

a new kid

she's been married twice 

searching for someone to make her feel the way he did

but she's alone with a box of hand written letters from him signed with hearts and the words "I'll always love you."

i have a box of hand written letters under my bed signed with your name ending with a cursive y,

17 and in love,

of course that's going to end, right?

but i never thought i would be alone with a box of letters that i can't seem to throw out.

i threw away that sweatshirt because it smelt like you

but the letters feel like you,

and i can't get myself to let go.

my biggest fear is ending up like my parents

i don't want my kids to learn the f word when they're 7 because they heard it being screamed at 3 am.

i don't want to feel the need to read my daughters creative writing journal in the middle of the night to see if she's hurting

and i don't ever want to read the words "my parents don't even love each other." written in scribbled pen and signed with tears

i want a love that never dies
you know, the deep kind
the dance in the kitchen kind
the slow kiss kind
the laugh line kind
the crinkled noses kind
the fingers always laced together kind

i'm only 17 but i find myself on my knees begging god that i won't end up like my best friends parents, and my parents and all your parents that didn't make it,

"i just want a love that's going to make it god."


"i don't think that's too much to ask god."