it
kills me that he has scars. it rips my heart to shreds to know
that i wasn't there, and he needed me. it constricts my
throat when i think of what could have happened if i hadn't
answered my phone all those times at 4 in the morning. it makes
me hate myself when i think about the time i didn't answer
the phone. it tears me apart when i remember his face, remember
seeing him cry for the first time, remember holding his as he
fell apart. it makes me realize how important he is to me, when
time after time, i will still pick up every last one of his
pieces.
