I can only hope there’s some version of me out there who wasn’t taken from her dad when she was 2. Didn’t grow up always wanting to go home even when she was there. Wasn’t raped in 5th grade and been praying for death since 8th. She didn’t go on to destroy every relationship she’s ever been in. She’s still married now with a daughter named Belle, because she actually met her prince charming young and healthy. God listens to her prayers but she doesn’t go to church much because her life is happy.
I’ll just sit here crying endlessly hoping there’s at least one happy version of me in the multiverse. Maybe I’ll meet her when I die. I don’t feel emotions anymore because they hurt too much. I’m too stubborn to kill myself, but the amount of agony life can hurl at me only seems to grow as time moves forward. I’m a horrible tower with stones of false hope put together with mistake mortar. I have no more usefulness. I only hope the vines cover my shameful shamble of a self and eventually I am forgotten.