These Witches Don't Burn

She'll never understand. The realization washes all the fight out of me, leaving behind only heartache. I gently pull my wrist from her grip. "Because," I say, my voice so soft it's nearly swallowed up by the trees, "I'm standing here, telling you how much you hurt me, and you can't hear it." Tears fill my eyes. I've lost the strength to hide them. "You broke my heart, and you didn't even notice. How can I ..." My throat closes up, I look away. "How could I ever trust you to put the pieces back together?

I’m standing here, telling you how much you hurt me, and you can’t hear it.

And it’s not like Disney ever showed us how to fall for another girl.

We stay like that for a long time. Until, finally, something inside starts to stitch itself back together.

That’s what they say. All things considered. They tell me it’s a miracle I didn’t suffer tremendous burns. That I’m lucky. Blessed even. I need a new T-shirt : someone tried to kill me, and all I got was this stupid concussion. But the real injuries won’t show up on their scans. I think they know that.

Her concern punctures through the hard facade I’ve been building brick by brick.

It's delta. The symbol of change. It's the only thing in life you can really count on." -Benton

I never want this moment to end

I'm not jealous of some skinny ginger.' She says ginger like it's a bad thing; I happen to have a special place in my heart for redheads.

I step closer to the flames, until I feel the lick of heat against my face. The energy cascades over me, through me,driving out the lingering hurt from seeing Veronica. Numbing bad memories like a magical Novocain.

Pre-date jitters turn my insides into a battleground. I feel like I might simultaneously throw up and pass out.

Just seeing her, watching her as she watches me, makes my skin flush hot. I wish, not for the first time since we broke up, that I could forget how good it feels when her body is pressed against mine.

But the feeling of victory doesn't last. Every second that's filled with anything other than grief leaves me unbearably guilty.

It doesn’t have to be like this

and I guess They were right. There really was a fine line to cross to hate. The same girl who dragged my ass out of the closet later tore my heart from my chest with her meticulously manicured nails.