A body lies still in a bed. Their hair was done nicely. Their skin is like one of those porcelain dolls. Their eyelashes were as long as an inch and their lips were plump and full of color. They were beautiful.
They were always so beautiful.
Especially when they slept.
That's all you could think about as you slowly raise your hand to the person's cheek and for a moment you think, you hesitate. But, you knew they wouldn't mind. They were the love of your life. They cherished you as much as you cherished them. You slowly turn your hand so the back of it caresses their cheek as you drag your limp appendage down their face. Their skin was as soft as they were when they were born.
Or so you could remember.
Or what you imagine.
You don't know anymore.
Your mind has been slipping for these past years and that's all anyone can say to you. That your mind has been slipping. Was it because you wore green and only green? That you kept dying your hair to an obnoxious orange? Was it the weird accent you've kept all these years even though you abandoned your homeland way back then? You don't know. You're lost. You no longer know the person that lays in an unconscious manner and you bring your hand back down to your side.
Panic was rising in your chest and you could feel your chest tightening in on itself and it made you panic even more. For some reason you stumble back and you could feel the gravitational pull-pulling you back. It was like Hell was trying to take you in and so you dig your feet into the ground as much as you can and you close your eyes for the briefest of moments and when you open your eyes once more you look to the body that lays before you.
The body was peaceful. It was beautiful. It wore a lovely green dress and their hair was a dying fire. It was like the oxygen was snatched right out of it. It was poetic, in a way, but you don't know the person. You can't remember why you're looking at them. You can't remember what brought you to them. You turn on your heel and with one glance back you look at the person once more, expecting something, knowing something. Nothing happens though. It's still the same. The wind lightly picks up your hair and you can see the wind lightly shifting the person's hair in the beautiful metaphor of life. They lay there. Unconscious.
