Savior

She said depression.

You thought of the cure. "fluffy, oversize sweater", "hot tea" and "let's stay inside tonight and watch bad movies.".

She said Mania.

You imagined "manic pixie dream girl, painting on walls without permission, never afraid of consequences, dancing naked in the kitchen.

a figure of absolute beauty and truth, screaming to you "Babe, I love you. I /need/ you. I worship the ground you walk on.
now here, let me cook for you so you don't have a worry in the world and you can try something new.

For once."

She said she self-harms.

you heard "I have a red pearl bracelet, and tiger stripes on my arms and thighs, but trust me its just an exaggeration,
i'm just in one of those moods, I don't want to kill myself, its all for the attention! Your love is the only thing that matters."

She knew rusted iron bones and stringy hair, and a pool of blood without self care,
and that perfume that is a hallmark of depression, "eau de corpse" (what an expensive perfume that is. it sometimes costs a life).

She knew Jagged lines down her forearms, dead, ashen skin beneath her nails, red rivers seeping down. Painting her skin
(just like that dream girl would paint your walls).

All while giving a smile and walking out with someone who isn't you.