Mending

The day I got admitted into the hospital, my first thought was you.

I was so, so scared. I mean, they considered me highly suicidal. I was in an inpatient treatment center for wanting to kill myself. Yet, I knew if I were talking to you at that moment I would feel every bit of alive. 

I was so scared. I was so alone. I was in a room with other broken people who didn't even know what school I went to and all I wanted to do was die. Yet, I wondered if you were texting me at that moment, and if my phone was sitting on my bed at home waiting for me to reply.

At night in the hospital, there were people screaming and scared, and as I had my headphones in with my pillow cuddled close, I wondered how school was going for you and if you were wondering where I was at lunch, why I hadn't been laughing with my best friend.

Sometimes, it was peaceful in the hospital. And during the serenity, I would sit next to the window and think. It wasn't like you knew how I felt about you, but you should have. Wasn't it obvious? I mean, I tried to learn football for you. I don't just do that for anyone.

When I got out of the hospital, you messaged me. You asked me where I'd been. I told you, everything. And you didn't judge me like I thought you would. Instead, you listened and you cared. That was the night I knew I liked you.

It's been one month since I was in the hospital, and five days since I got your text. I still have it screenshotted, actually. You like me, you truly, actually, like me. And I know you really like me for me because I didn't believe anyone would be able to like me, after all I was suicidal.

I didn't think I would ever feel alive again, but then I met you.