Scars | Niall Horan

I hate life. Simple as that. I can't seem to ever find happiness, and when I do, I somehow loose it through the cracks of my fingers. Like its clear liquid running and I just can't stop it from flowing. That's one reason I self harm. My scars tell my story, you just have to be keen and understanding enough to make out the words. My scars are like some new language you've never spoken or seen. People never seem to understand me. My moms a bitch, my dad's a man whore. Oh and my love life isn't so well either. All this changed when I met him. Blue eyes, blonde hair. His name is Niall. He came into my life and never left. Most people leave me because I'm "fake" or a "slut" or I'm just not good enough. No, Niall's different. He helped me through so much, I can't ever thank him enough, but I don't think he can read the scars on my skin well enough. I don't think he understands the relief of the blade cutting and releasing blood. Maybe he does, maybe he don't. Do you want to know what my story is? Or do you want to be another person to give up when I need you the most? This is the story of me, Diana.