Yet not a day goes by where I regret it. Regret telling him to go away. The feeling of feeling nothing at all washes over me. I love it. I love this emptiness. Or so I tell myself anyway.
I see her, a pathetic little shell, the spirit I fell in love with fading away. She hates it, feeling nothing. I can tell. She loved the rollercoaster of human emotions. Or so I tell myself anyway.
Yet not a day goes by where I don't miss him. I hated him. But, I still miss him. I guess he knows. He could read my face like a book. Or so I tell myself anyway.
I cannot do anything. I cannot yeel, I cannot do anything but watch in horror as the knife gets closer and closer to her. Yet, there is a small part that wants him to hurt her. The part that she killed, wanting revenge. But as she turns around just in time and escapes, I'm relieved. Or so I tell myself anyway.
