Title: Love Lost
by Bethyie | in writing, fiction
The mirrors taunt me. They show my reflection; Ghost! they scream at me, but I ignore them. My will is the strongest. They won't break me. Images imprinted in my brain. But he ripped. He was so tough, so magnificent; I could hardly believe he was mine. But he ripped.
Outside the happy shouts of children in the first of this winters snow, building a snowman as if this had never happened! Their ignorance! How could they not realise?
To never again hear his bored voice reading Shakespeare, making it come to life. His voice is mute. Running my fingers over his tough torso. But he ripped.
I am sick. Dead. When he died, in the joy-ride. But he ripped. Slice, I take my own life.
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