I watched as he turned his back on me. My blood dripping from his tanned, unscarred hands. He began walking slowly, as if to see if if I would call his name with my last dying breath, or reach for him with my bloody, mangled hands. I did not. I never would. Perhaps some months ago, when I was irrevocably in love with him. But now? I await for him to leave, so that I may die alone on this marble floor; cold, helpless, but in peace. My breath begins to shallow, I turn my gaze upward to regard the lapis sky filled with gems. They await me.
The sound of his footsteps stop, but I don't turn. Partially because of my wearing body and neck muscles, but also because I want the last thing I see to be beautiful, but not as painfully so. Everything about him is painfully beautiful, and yet so alluring that I couldn't help myself. He was a dark and striking painting, with horrors upon it so beautiful and tragic it was hard to look at, but nearly impossible to look away. I wish I had looked away.
He comes back. I don't turn. He looms over me. I look past his broad, right shoulder. He kneels down. I feel the droplet fall on to my pale face. I am not crying. He begs me. "Why have you caused this? Look at what you have done to me! To yourself!" I do not answer. He grasps my arms and begins to shake me. "Answer me!" He demands, his red rimmed eyes flooding his sun light skin with moisture. I open my mouth, blood floods out. I close it along with my eyes. It was time to meet the stars.
I could feel him shaking me harder demanding everything. Stay awake. Stop dying. Get up. Love me.
I could do nothing but die, and he could do nothing but let me.
