The window shatters, the winter air that blows through, chilling my very skin. I know it's late and I should probably be asleep but I can't. I can still feel her blood on my hands, I can see the light leave her eyes and I feel her go limp as I hold her.
I never wanted that. Even now I can feel the warm gooey liquid cover my hands as I try to stop the bleeding. It was my fault. I didn't hate her. I loved her, from afar. Maybe if I kept my distance she'd still be here.
After all, I didn't know that'd be the start of my downfall. Where I see others like her and I have to hurt them. Because they aren't her!
I remember walking up to her, smiling like old friends, my right hand clutching the handle of my open blade. She tried walking away with out me. Can you believe that? So I walked with her and I blacked out in the alley.
When I came back, she was bleeding, I was covered in her blood, my knife was put away and my hands was trying to cover the wounds that riddled her stomach and chest.
They had been bad, I called for help as I held her close to me, thinking if she felt my heart hers would start again.
I loved her more than a coursing river, I guess mom was right when she said we hurt the ones we love the most. Now if you'll excuse me. I must go. I hear the sirens whaling, and I won't go without a fight. For you see. I want to see her again, I can no longer walk around here every day and see God's cruel reminders that he shows me, for giving him back the one I loved.
