Unsaid

Thread

It's funny how in one blink of an eye, the entire world can change. Things that aren't what they appear to be are finally revealed. But sometimes, you wish they hadn't been.

I guess for you, he was the final thread. He was your breaking point, the reason you decided there wasn't any point in trying anymore. Now you shoot me down with hateful screams and insulting words, hoping that one of the blows might take me out for good.

You, on the other hand, I think all you needed was someone that would be on your side. When you saw that someone had the same views as you, you pounced. There you sit, picking your teeth with the bones from my lifeless corpse. You're glad to have finally let out the pent up anger and hatred you've kept bottled within.

They are my fear. The whispers, the dirty looks, the feeling that people are lying to my face. The are like bugs crawling over my skin, like vultures ready to swoop in the moment I make a mistake. There can be no trust where panic dwells.

Now he, he is my hope. There is no telling if the things he tells me are true, but all I can do is believe them. He is my happiness, my laughter, the one thing I can look forward to even after I've been wounded with cut after cut and now I'm just limping through the battlefield. I could be a fool, but I'd much rather believe I've been saved.

They are my support. My crutches when my legs are broken and my lungs when I forget to breathe. They help me hold my head high and offer comfort where others don't offer it. I would be dead if it wasn't for them to keep picking me up and moving me onwards.

All of these people, both good and bad, cut away at a rope. They've left me here now, hanging by a single thread, hoping that it won't break. My hope and happiness and support can only last so long before the hatred and the disgust and the fear drag me into the darkness.

I'm holding on the the thread tight, but even rope won't last forever.