'59 wether forecast, England
It's like this, It was ok.
Just like the other day when they had a fight. The fact she was dead - didn't really change a lot. The blood will be removed from the covers, only a nose bleed. And she will be chopped and actually cremated in the living room. Then I could sell the house. Or not, it would be strangle attractive to make love in the room that you murdered someone in. I mean, not really murdered. More like, helped to get to the much deserved other side.
Hold me. Hold me closer. Yes.
Oh, yes.
Pasta is almost ready. Almost, I say. Never knowing what to do with myself in these last minutes. There is not really enough time to leave and do something else but guarding the stove feels ridiculous.
Like when I wake up and by bed is bathing in the hot summer sun! The breeze running in through the open window. I just remove the covers and let my naked self be taken by mother nature.
I want to hit my hear against the wall until I faint. Or cut my wrists and feel a bit sick while I make myself look at my blood leaving me. Leaving me forever. Then I change my mind and I start drinking it, for I see no other way to take it back in.
And I really want it back in, I change my mind, no death today.
Too late, I say.
Running her fingers through his short hair. You can see the smallest movement of his eyes, very little but they do roll back and yes, they are back, focused. It is also very visible how she can see it too, and she makes another move, just to enjoy that fraction of a moment when his eyes.
Rain.
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