The night she died was the night I murdered. It was my fault that her heart was so irrevocably shattered, and for that, I abhorred myself. The only way that I could ever help her to feel better was to help her stop feeling at all. I was tired, so tired from nights spent crying instead of sleeping, and the sweet, peaceful room she slept in smelled like her skin and dreams. I had been there before, so many times that I could feel my way to her, even in the pitch darkness and dead silence. Then I was at her bead, all white satin and pale lace, radiating warmth and serenity. Her head was thrown to the side, so lovely, oh ruthless perfection, and her beautiful golden ringlets rested on her forehead. She looked so amazingly tranquil, and I never wanted to harm a cell of her being again.

I brushed her sunshine curls away from her dazzling face and she stirred, smiling faintly as she recalled my very touch. She knew it was me, even in her fading subconscious. I leaned down and brushed her soft cheek with my dry lips, and her indigo eyes opened slowly, darkened with sleep. When her vision focused, her eyes widened and her spine straightened.

“What are you doing here?” she sighed, voice bright with alarm and surprise.

“I knew you missed me,” I whispered softly, stroking her face.

“Missed you?” she questioned, glancing about in panic. My poor dear; she must have still thought she was dreaming.

“Yes,” I said,” and I am so sorry for hurting you. I love you – I made a mistake.” And then I took a step closer to her body, shaking with desire.

“Mistake? What are you-?” but her words were drowned out by her blood. The handle of the knife was as a cold as dead flesh in my palm, but my freezing hand was quickly warmed by that breathtaking scarlet blood of hers.

She tried to scream, a human instinct, but I saw it in her eyes: she was begging me to continue. Let her leave this life. Put her out of her misery. It was my fault. The least I could do was make the pain disappear, finally, finally.

I heard “don’t” and “stop”

So I kept going

A stab in the dark

And I still kept going

And goingandgoingandgoingandgoingandgoingandstabbingandpuncturingandkilling

Until the blade slid from my weak grasp

Because all I could feel was blood and remorse

And all I could hear was the sound of my own gasping breath

Because she was eternally quiet

And my lungs were strikingly loud

And I stroked that gorgeous face

And her tears mixed with her blood

All mingling quietly on my skin

And I screamed, then I sobbed

Because I loved her, I loved her,

Oh, how I adored her,

And she was dead

And there was no one else to love.