She looks at me through her golden eyes.
We're lying awake under the sheets.
Flashes of lightning illuminate the black walls, my breath calms with the rain.
I can hear my blood, my heartbeat pulsing through my veins.
I touch my palm to her cheek.
She is cold.
She speaks to me but I cannot hear her.
I never do.
I grace my fingertips over her skin.
She is dead.
She means nothing anymore.
I use my imagination to the best of my abilities to make her believe I love her.
To make her believe I can love her.
Perhaps it is me who is dead.
I can not tell.
Each day I find basic human interactions more and more difficult.
I am empty.
It is not sad.
It is not a loss.
It is nothing.
I am nothing.
I am dead.
The gold in my eyes faded to black long ago.
