You won't speak to me

If you say that, I'm going to die. Don't ever say it. Never.

I'd hung up on you. I was alone, except for having you in my heart. And if you'd said that... I didn't want to think about exactly what you were going to say. I could walk to the shore and swim out to the deep waters, then let myself sink downward. Make myself lose my breath. Make myself die.

I wanted to stay alive. I sent you text after text telling you that you're the only thing keeping me alive. No response. A picture, to show you that I was holding on. No response. Two messages each day to let you know that I hadn't died. People near you are telling me not to contact you at all, or they'll involve the law. People who can't seem choose between helping me to live and tearing me away from you. People who, when forced to take one, would choose my death. People I don't care about when the only person I care about is you.

The only thing that keeps me alive is knowing that you care. That's why I'm making this blog. I can't contact you at all. But I can leave these messages here and tell myself that you will read it some day. I can tell myself that for a month. For a year. For a decade. For a century. I'm going to talk to you here, clinging to the thought that you'll read it eventually. Hoping that you'll respond someday, hoping that you'll see me and hold me someday.

This is the life of a person who's fighting to live for love. This will be here for anyone to understand, to care, to relate. Even when doubt creeps in, I'll stay strong for you. Because I need to be with you again.