Broken Souls **I'd very much appreciate feedback on this story** **Broken Souls** Sometimes I wake up and I feel like there’s a massive hole in my chest. I feel weighed down and nauseous from the rocking boat of a life that I live, It’s like everything I touch dies. My friends, my family, anybody I’ve ever loved really. I’d love to say that this story is about meeting someone that changes that all, but it’s far from it. I grew up in London, the financial capital of England where dreams come true and money talks, and all the fuckers who live here are so diseased inside their rotten apple of materialistic consumption that their hearts are probably full of worms. The people I grew around weren’t particularly nice and had a sort of passion for making lives of the 1% a living nightmare, but that’s okay because they’re broken. See we’re all broken in our own way, every one of us. Even those who think that their life is great with their boyfriends or girlfriends and wives and husbands; they’re all broken.People and love are like lines, the parallel lines have so much in common. They both are heading in the same direction, they both possess the same mathematical properties. But they never meet. Ever. But you know some lines cross each other briefly...but they drift apart forever and they will never meet again. Ever. Like the parallel lines, thankfully me and the arseholes at my secondary school won’t ever meet again which gives me a slight sense of optimism. So I was onto sixth form, with a clear image of a new change in my my head I was actually looking forward to going to sixth form for the first few months. The people there were nice, the stuff we learnt was interesting, and they’re weren’t too many apes with sagging tracksuits asking if I’m “Dizzy fam”. It was good, and the best part was there was actually a girl in my Biology class who was amazing. She was funny, cute and actually had a good taste in music. I talked to her days in and days out and was most definitely falling in love, how couldn’t I?! She was, in my eyes, absolutely perfect. But you know, some fairy tales don’t end with a happily ever after. It was a day I’d never forget, I had planned it thoroughly. We went out for coffee, just me and her, and we talked for hours on end, about her friends, about my friends. And I decided to do it and tell her how I felt. I mean that’s what you do right? If you love someone you tell them you love them, and everything will be fine. She tore my heart apart. She didn’t love me. She had a fucking boyfriend, and decided that she didn’t want to tell me. Hell they’re fucking engaged already. ENGAGED. That killed me, I went home that day and cut and cried and cut and cried. She meant everything to me, I loved her with every fucking inch of my beaten up fucking heart and she hid the most important fucking thing that could have saved me a shiton of heart ache. So here I am...I suppose every end needs a reason to end right? Well here’s mine. Broken Souls Sometimes I wake up and I feel like there’s a massive hole in my chest. I feel weighed down and nauseous from the rocking boat of a life that I live, It’s like everything I touch dies. My friends, my family, anybody I’ve ever loved really. I’d love to say that this story is about meeting someone that changes that all, but it’s far from it. I grew up in London, the financial capital of England where dreams come true and money talks, and all the fuckers who live here are so diseased inside their rotten apple of materialistic consumption that their hearts are probably full of worms. The people I grew around weren’t particularly nice and had a sort of passion for making lives of the 1% a living nightmare, but that’s okay because they’re broken. See we’re all broken in our own way, every one of us. Even those who think that their life is great with their boyfriends or girlfriends and wives and husbands; they’re all broken.People and love are like lines, the parallel lines have so much in common. They both are heading in the same direction, they both possess the same mathematical properties. But they never meet. Ever. But you know some lines cross each other briefly...but they drift apart forever and they will never meet again. Ever. Like the parallel lines, thankfully me and the arseholes at my secondary school won’t ever meet again which gives me a slight sense of optimism. So I was onto sixth form, with a clear image of a new change in my my head I was actually looking forward to going to sixth form for the first few months. The people there were nice, the stuff we learnt was interesting, and they’re weren’t too many apes with sagging tracksuits asking if I’m “Dizzy fam”. It was good, and the best part was there was actually a girl in my Biology class who was amazing. She was funny, cute and actually had a good taste in music. I talked to her days in and days out and was most definitely falling in love, how couldn’t I?! She was, in my eyes, absolutely perfect. But you know, some fairy tales don’t end with a happily ever after. It was a day I’d never forget, I had planned it thoroughly. We went out for coffee, just me and her, and we talked for hours on end, about her friends, about my friends. And I decided to do it and tell her how I felt. I mean that’s what you do right? If you love someone you tell them you love them, and everything will be fine. She tore my heart apart. She didn’t love me. She had a fucking boyfriend, and decided that she didn’t want to tell me. Hell they’re fucking engaged already. ENGAGED. That killed me, I went home that day and cut and cried and cut and cried. She meant everything to me, I loved her with every fucking inch of my beaten up fucking heart and she hid the most important fucking thing that could have saved me a shiton of heart ache. So here I am...I suppose every end needs a reason to end right? Well here’s mine.