life-How-I-See-It

         Every other time, he had been sobbing on the edge of his bed, regretting what he’d done while staring down at the marks he had left. This time was different. He was used to it now; the guilty feeling that he was left with after doing this to himself. Nitori sighed as he rubbed medicine over his forearm, wincing as he glided his hand over the newly opened cuts. It’d been three weeks since he last did this; the marks from the last time had already scarred over almost entirely. They were still very visible, so he had been skipping practice as much as he could; the days he wasn’t able to, he had worn a wetsuit that cove

     He sat there in the corner of the room, huddling his knees into his thin body. It was no use. No use for the Italian who shivered, letting out dry sobs. He wasn't loved, never was and never will be. He knew that the one he loved hated him, wanted nothing to do with him. Who had feigned affection all this time, not caring for his emotions. Who backed away at Italy's touch, who shouted at him, always angry. He didn't care, he never did and never will. Romano was right. Romano was always right.   There was a knock at the door the door. The brunette looked up to hear a voice:     "Italia? Italia are you there?"   The tears fell harder

Daddy hits me, and mommy yells. I run out the front door, all the way to the harbour. I sit, swinging my feet, watching my reflection in the stormy water. Life is beautiful. I go to school, I sit in silence. "What's wrong, why won't you talk?" I wish I could respond. Late at night, I sit up and watch the stars dance. I can't fall asleep, as much as I'd like to. So I sit. And think. And dream and plan and live. I live, if only in my thoughts.