Finger-Painted Agony: EightMature


I dreamt of you again last night. This one was not so lovely.

We were in the bedroom, only you weren't wearing the dress like usual. You were crying, and I couldn't figure out why. We were fighting again. I am certain it was about my smoking tendencies. Maybe I had forgotten to do something. You were blinded by tears, and I was trying to reach to you.

You pushed me away, ran past into the bathroom. I followed because I loved you and lovers follow. I told you I was sorry even though I knew you wouldn't believe me. You never did, when it mattered. I stood in the doorway as your hair fell into your face. Longed to push it back behind your ear, to kiss your cheek and let it all go away. Maybe to take you in my arms and hold you.

But you weren't having any of that. I had failed you again, like always. I would never be able to love you like you deserved.

That is when the scene changed, and then I was back in that place with the red smeared against my skin, finger painted agony. Only I wasn't screaming out in pain, and you weren't shell shocked in the doorway.

It wasn't my blood coating my arms.

If one has never seen the final breath fall from the lips of another, they cannot possibly fathom how it feels. I watched the light fade from your eyes, like the stars disappeared from the sky every night. You always said they were the only ones who could promise forever. But even the brightest stars burn out in the end.


The End

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