After school he would make up excuses as to why we couldn't hang out. He would inform me that he was going to his grandpa's house to help out with chores, or some other lie. A few hours later, at twilight, I would go upstairs into my parents' bedroom and look out of their frosty window out at the windy, barren street and see him outside with his friends, laughing and having a good time. I cringed, and my stomach whirled and spun like the snowflakes falling from the cloudy sky. The weather emphasized my depression -- the dark atmosphere and messy roads synched with my damper moods. I kept replaying everything he ever said to me in my head, over and over, like a broken Christmas record. "You're ugly; you need to lose some weight; why can't you just be cool and not boring?" His voice echoed through my ears and through the empty trees as I sat outside and pondered what was happening. I lay down in my backyard, a winter wonderland of dirty snow and ice chunks. It was always twilight when I did this -- the sun just slowly creeping down below the trees, hibernating for the night, making everything colder and harsher. I followed my breath up into the dull sky until it disappeared, and I knew what I had to do.

I began to cut myself. How pathetic, right? I found solace in a cheap razor. My left hip suffered the damages. Why didn't I break up with him? You know how it is. Fifteen-year-old love is a hard thing to get out of. I was a bit more mature for my age, and I wanted a real relationship. He cut down my pride and self esteem like I had never experienced before. Unfortunately, my skin wasn't like the bark of a tree -- the scars are still visible and I am reminded every day of what I went through. If you cut a tree, it embraces its cut and wears it proudly. Not so much for me. Twilight brings back these memories. I look up at the sky on some nights, winter or summer, and I remember. This certain time of day is the most beautiful, but it's the most painful for me, too. I never understood the reason behind his actions, beside the fact that he was embarrassed to be with me. All of my relationships suffer because of this -- my insecurities build until they explode, spouting bits and pieces everywhere, like snow gushing from a snow blower.

Luckily for me, my cutting subsided, and our relationship ended. However, when twilight comes around, I am hit with the cold sting of bad memories like a blast of winter air, or a blow of humid, summer breeze. The sun streaming through the trees gives the atmosphere a dusty, iridescent glow, shining on everything in its path. It reaches my face and I glimpse at the solid ground below me and realize how much I let this bad memory affect me. It changed me and shaped a little bit of who I am today -- the weak side of who I am. My endless collection of journals that I kept during that time has documented every cut and every tear. I don't know why, but I can't seem to get rid of them. Would you? I didn't think so. Bad memories are like songs you love but know you shouldn't -- they never go away, and they are always stuck in your head. As much as it pains me to remember this time in my life, twilight brings a sort of sad resolution to it all, a resolution that I have yet to discover. I don't believe that I will ever forget that relationship -- scars are permanent, and I'll always remember it as a time of day -- twilight.

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