“Because I love you.”
I mutter.

I’m not hungry.

The thought of food disgusts me.

I eat anyway.

 

 

 

“Because I love you.”

I whimper.

I’m curled in bed early.

The urge to regurgitate is strong.

I ignore it.

 

 

 

“Because I love you.”

I cry.

I’m never thirsty. 

My mouth is dry like a desert.

I drink water.

 

 

 

“Because I love you.”

I whisper.

The old ones are almost done healing.

I put down the blade

 

 

 

“Because I love you.”

I lie.

I don’t love her.

But I’m trying.

 

 

 

“Because I want to love you.”

I promise.

I hug her, my cold fingers brushing my shoulders.

She’s shaking.

I can see it in the mirror.

She’s hugging herself.

She wants to love herself.

 

 

 

“Because I’m trying.”

I say to myself.

I hug myself just a little tighter.