Dawn rose over the extended horizon whilst I floated away from my vehicle, toward the shoreline over which it loomed. Dressed in a shade of black reminiscent of midnight when stars refuse to shine, I mourned the loss of my innocence. I mourned the loss of you.
As a narrator speaking in first person, I must mention I also speak from personal experience. I had already made the most abated decision of my life... the decision to **** you. To **** the best part of me. The statement is merely figurative because there is no blood on my hands, yet I have a inkling that there will always be a blade poised behind your back and a genuine but soft smile resting upon your face. Maybe I am mourning the idea I developed to become you, meanwhile your true colors hide amidst the treacherousness awaiting those who approach too quickly. I still reside between unabated fervor and regret. How is this possible?
I replay the scene as if it were the gut-wrenching ****** of a romantic movie cast with individuals whom we know are only actors, but the light in their eyes begs to differ so we fall victim to their charade. Played out so beautifully for all the world to see if it feels so inclined, we watch them pretend to fall apart and they make it look so graceful. In reality, life cycles forward and time is my favorite tragedy. When I fell apart, there was no elegance in my breakdown. I mourned you then, and so it continues.
There was once a ring, long since forgotten, but eerily stuck in my memory. It is my ultimate contradiction. I am tormented by the final laceration, removing you: my innocence. This is my side of the story, but you were better than any actor who ever lived and you hid your treachery like guns from children. I wrote the word "forever" on your chest with my fingertips, but you chose to ignore the F, one R, and one E.
I mourn the day I killed this part of me. The same day you showed your treachery. Curiosity killed the child who found your favorite weaponry. If I recall correctly, it was just the right size for him: a .22 caliber pistol... but why on Earth would you leave the safety off?
Now I understand why I am floating away. Oh dear God, no...
"In writing, you must **** your darlings." - William Faulkner