My life is over. These three small words crawl incessantly from your lips with such a lugubrious tone, clawing their way along the trenches on your face to settle in the wells of water that are your eyes. The slow poignant sobs of heartbreak and whispers of regret rip my heart from my chest. I can’t bear to watch you like this.



“I don’t –“you start. Before you can finish I embrace you, wrapping my arms around your body and pulling you in as tight as I can. I press my lips against yours, and put every ounce of passion I have in my body into yours. Your lips are cold. Your eyes are black. You have wrinkles. You are 15.

I pull my lips from yours, and run my fingers through your hair as you sob effusively into my chest, bathing me in tears. You are mine.