Love at First Sight

The first time I looked into her eyes I knew I was in love. Her mouth slightly open in surprise, and her searching look, I knew this moment was something special that we shared. She picked up her books from the floor, looked at me one more time, and walked away. "Hey!" I said, with an impetus I didn't recognize in myself. "I want to see you again!" Shouting after her on the hallway. Others looking at me smiling, giggling. She stopped and turned, her cheeks blushing, soft, suddenly shy. She gave me her number and said to text her later, and we'd meet. Then she ran away somewhere, suddenly in a hurry. Another class, another boring passage of time until I saw her again. And so my life turned into a dream, in which we saw each other in slow intense moments, time dilated to an extreme, and then there was the rest of it, passing all in blur.  

It all stopped one fateful morning when someone found her dead on the trail. She liked to run, or more exactly, she had to run, to train for some races. She was good at it. And her body showed, perfect lean athletic, hinting from underneath her clothes. Sometimes not hinting but showing itself in all its glory, her body. But now there was no breath left in it, no life left at all. And my life felt over too, just the same. 

She had been shot. It was a misty morning, one of those in which you barely see anything around because the fog covers everything with a veil. Whoever did it must have gotten close enough with this lack of visibility. They said the shot was from behind, right through the heart. A swift death, while she was running. Merciful.

I don't think anybody understands how empty my life is. She had been with me the night before, it's true, we'd been together. I was the last person to see her alive. It was wonderful. I didn't spare any minute, the thirst of being together, like a trance. There must have been others who hated her, or envied her, but I cannot understand it. They didn't see the good in her. The magic of her beauty.

They took me in for questioning. I didn't have a lot of things to say. Her parents had been away, and no she didn't have anybody else. It was just the two of us. And no I don't have a gun, but I know my dad has one. Why would I want to use a gun? For fun of course, I used to like to shoot target practice and sometimes out in the woods, kill little things with the gang. And yes, that explains why my fingerprints are there, on my dad's gun.

I am bitter now, because they couldn't find anybody else, so it's me who's found guilty in the end. Yes, I am really mad at her for leaving me. She left me with her body and she left me with her soul. And an abyss of desperation had open for me, ready to swallow me. What will I do without her? The food I eat has no taste and the days have no meaning. They just pass because the earth is spinning, really that's it, and I am here meaningless, existing.

You will never get my confession, because there is no point to it. The only thing that really existed were those moments, when we looked into each other's eyes and when we felt alive, really alive, like one thousand times so. What was real was the moment when I touched her face, soft and fine, like a precious thing, so warm and yet so cold, all at the same time. And now, her face is cold, and I'll be joining her in her coldness too because this is the end for me. I feel my blood slowly running down my arms, the last warmth leaving my body. It doesn't hurt I'm just weak and the cuts I made into myself are gaping. When they find me tomorrow... there will be no me anymore...