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Memoirs of a Broken Soul
by Stacy

Sometimes there are days that I just donít think I can go on. The entire weight of the world is pressing down on me, and there is nothing left for me to do. Losing her has destroyed me; I will forever curse myself for the ignorance I acted with, for ruining whatever chance we might have had at happiness.

Why do we do the stupid things that we do? We know in our hearts what is right and wrong, yet we still do cruel and horrible things to people. I loved her. I always will.

The guys try to get me out of my depression, they tell me that time heals all; well, I say thatís bullshit. Time does nothing but cut into the scars a little deeper until it eventually withers you away, and youíre merely a skeleton of your former self.

I know that people think Iím dumb, and I donít really feel too much. That most likely I am wrapped up in who I am and my career, that I can have any girl I want.

Thatís obviously not true.

Sometimes, when I lie awake at night, because I never really sleep, I can get a clear picture of her. Just for an instant though. I see her soft hair, her full lips, and those eyes. I swear, they could look into my soul. Itís almost as though she slips back into our bedroom after this long year of hell, just to check up on me. Every once in a while, I think I hear her say ďI love you.Ē

Maybe I am crazy.

Thatís how my mind feels, all tangled up in knots and pain. And no one understands Ė how could they? They have their loved ones, they didnít throw them away.

I try to write her a letter every day, I try so damn hard to tell her how I really feel. I just want her to know how deeply sorry I am for what I did Ö and every day, I throw it away. Whatís the use? She wonít read it, I know.

Is she all right, wherever she is? Does she have someone to look after her, to make sure she is loved and hugged and kissed every day, just like she should be? Selfish as I am, part of me hopes not. Part of me wants her to be as lonely and miserable as I am right now.

But I have made up my mind. Today will be the day; I will go see her; I havenít since it happened. It has been one year, one year since I killed my wife. One year since I got drunk at AJís party and refused to let her drive home, screaming at her to shut up. One year since I ran the stoplight and the oncoming driver had no chance to stop. She was gone in an instant. Yes, Nick Carter is a murderer.

Somehow, I will make her understand what has to be done; itís the only way, for I am no one without her, and I really donít care what I have to do to be with her now.

I must go too.

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