Valentine's Day, 1998.
I remember that day, when I asked you to be my valentine. That special bond that I felt was going on between us was increasing, and I wanted to take that to the next level.
I remember the look on your face, the happiness and excitement of the day we spent together drained from your face like water running down a plughole. You said no.
I loved you.
You know I did, so why would you do this to me?
Why?
I remember when you walked away into the crowd of lovers. I sat on the bench, crying. I walked home on my own. No-one was at home to comfort me after what you did.
I remember waking up and looking at the patterns of my cuts from last night. The blood on the carpet was still there from last night. The writing on my bedroom walls was still there.
‘Why?’ the writing said, all written in blood.