A Love Like War

t w e n t y t w o

SONG OF THE CHAPTER:
A Love Like War by All Time Low
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TRIGGER WARNING

I knew I loved Maria in her own way. I loved her grace, and the beauty about her. I loved the way she smelled like the rain on cement after a storm. I loved her carefree spirit towards the world. I loved her devotion and loyalty towards what she loved.

I didn't love the way she died. Scared, alone, and feeling utterly helpless. I hated that I could have helped her, had I stayed on the phone. Had I not been so tired I could have convinced her against her plans.

She died 6:18 AM on August the 4th. Leaving many shattered by the news, not excluding me.

I was heartbroken. I'd trusted her. I'd put my faith into her. I'd grown to admire her, not just as a person, but as a friend as well. I'd gotten close to her, and now she was gone. She took her own life because she couldn't bare living it, and ironically it made me realise how much Alex cared.

Everytime I skipped a meal, he noticed. He noticed because he wanted me to be safe. He wanted me to have the best I could possibly have.

Whenever I was down, the entire band tried their best to lift my spirits. They'd invite me out with them. Cook for me- despite none of them knowing how to cook. They tried their best to keep me happy, because if this were to happen on a global scale the results could be disasterous.

A dominoe effect. There had to be someone out there who I inspired, someone who took enough of a fancy to our band to learn our names and follow our personalities. Someone else who was struggling with what was going on in their lives, but turned to me, to us, to make themselves happier.

Someone in this world must listen to our lyrics and smile a little, knowing the people who wrote it made them happy.

And I broke down. So much responsibility was thrown onto our shoulders. We had people to look after, we had a whole dedicated fanbase who looked up to us. If I left, Alex wouldn't be able to cope with a new guitarist. I was a huge part of the band, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

If Maria had been in my position she would have been trapped too. She would have been stuck to live a life without any escape routes. She would be in the exact same position as I am right now. I wished, so desperately wished I could switch places with her. That I could be the one struggling to float, before giving up. I wish she could see the world from my point of veiw.

That she could feel the rush of privacy.

She could feel the joy of doing what you love.

She could feel the inspiration of meeting all those people who looked up to you, and what you stood for.

I wish she could see all her potential. I wished, and I wished, and I wished. I wished for a world without the cruelty, but wishes rarely came true.

Now she's gone, and I'm undeniably shattered from the results. So I cried and I cried.

Days passed, and I never moved. I lay on my bunk, and I cried. I stared blankly at the wall and didn't talk to anyone.

I dissapeared from the world in a figurative sense. I quit socializing. I didn't check my twitter, never once scrolled through my instagram feed.

I should have known. We both came out of war zones and were thrown together by circumstance. We met under fire. Me running from an ex-girlfriend, and her escaping the current relationship she had.

The road of our friendship was paved with bumps from the exploding bombs, destruction littered our wake.

We were each others only source of comfort in those moments. We turned to each other in times of need.

We had a love like war, and I should have known it wouldn't end well.

I guess I should have known that wars always have casualties.

But wars have survivors too. When I looked at myself in the mirror I knew I would make it. I knew I could do this. I promised myself.

I can.

Maria left scars on me. Battle wounds. She took a piece of me and shattered it. I was going to be okay.

I was a survivor.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
it's finished!!
CHECK OUT MY OTHER STORIES:

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