"I'm sorry," she whispered as I rushed into her small warm-litted bedroom. The crisp and feminine scent tingled within the air around me as the line of candles burn bright. I've never found out what the scent was, it was her favourite nevertheless.

In the quietest of the night, she wept at th corner nearest to her window. Even the moon could not comfort her tonight.

She did not look up as i crept closer to her. She hid her left arm under her night robe, as she wrapped those arms around her thin waist.

I caught a glimpse of crimson and I knew what she just did. I died a little inside, dissapointed and guilt tightened their grip around my sanity. But I loved her too much to resent her actions.

But if she could have thought before she reached out for that small razor. If she had thought for a second as that weapon cuts her skin deep, she's threading a thin line between life and death. If she knows how much i wished the scars would go away every time i kissed them. I know, more than anyone, it wasn't the physical pain that could kill her, its the demons in her head that drives her crazy every night.
It's those memories that haunts her every breath.

I gathered her in my arms, placing comforting kisses on her forehead, stroking her hair and wiping tears from her tear-stained cheeks. She surrenders herself to her sorrow as she heals her heart once more in my salvation.

"I'm sorry," was all she could say. I hushed her. I don't need her sorry's because of what the world outside did to her. I just need her to get stronger when the sun starts to rise and the scars stopped bleeding and when her tears no longer flow.

When the sun rise and I'm no longer next to her. I just need her to be strong.

She's calling out my name, over and over again as she clutched the thin fabric where her broken heart is beating.