One drunk evening

Prologue: Before the pain.

"I can't say that you don't cross my mind, every single day. It's not as if you cross it, more like you live there. You've made yourself comfortable in my mind." She looked at the beautiful ceiling fan that they had bought together one drunk evening, more like she stared, thinking it needed more. "I can't say that every day I don't think about how it would be, how it could have been, if you were here now, if I hadn't said the things I did, those very regretful things. I sit here now thinking what it could have been, or should have been." She stood up, grabbed the noose she'd made out of his old ties and tied it to the ceiling fan, the oh so beautiful ceiling fan. She lifted herself up onto the chair and thought to herself, about him and said, "you chose the easy way out, so why can't I, darling?" She put her head in the rope, tightened it around her neck, thought he last thought, about him. About his perfect voice, his perfect body, his lips, his mind, his beautiful mind. He was perfect and she did not understand why he left her for death unto himself. She never would understand. She thought her last thought, breathed in heavy as a tear rolled down her face she kicked away the chair and watched as the world faded away as her breathing slowed and the pain faded. There she was, dead because he killed himself. He was her only reason to live, and he wasn't there, so what's the point?