He
put his
hand upon
my chest,
right above
my heart.
The warmth of
his skin
burning me
to the core.
'This right here,'
he whispered.
'is who you are.
You
are the beating
of your heart,
you are the
blood rushing
through your veins;
you're the
air you breathe,
you're not the scars on you
wrist, nor are you the scars
on your heart.
You're this incredible being,
with a profound purpose;
never, ever, doubt that.'
That night,
I cried.
That night,
I threw away
my blades,
holding my hand
over my heart.
