There's not a single taste that will ever compare
To the strawberries we picked down the bank near the birch tree grove.
Remember how small they were?
Squishy in our hands, staining them red.
Resembled the red bloodstains that adorn our palms now.
Everything's slowing fading to black, and all I can see is the sun refracting off the broken glass strewn around us.
That must be what the pinpricks of pain smattered across the back of my body is. 
Glass shards carving into me. 
Do you feel those too? 
Or are you occupied by the gaping hole in your chest? 
Look, I have one too. 
Now we're twins. 
Feel their fingers rifling through my pockets, searching for diamonds and gold but coming up with gum wrappers and lint. 
Was that you coughing up liquid? 
I can't quite see anymore. 
But I can still feel. 
I think. 
I don't know. 
I think it's cold. 
Can you feel it too? 
But it's not like the chill you feel when the shower suddenly goes cold. 
This cold creeps, undetected, from your toes up. 
Crawling through your veins to your heart. 
And your brain. 
Not quite sure which one it reaches first. 
I'll tell you when it happens. 
Or you tell me. 
Whoever has it happen first should warn the other, ok? 
Baby? 
Can you hear me? 
Do you feel cold? 
Hello? 
Answer me! 
Wait. 
I feel it now. 
It's your heart.
It's the heart it reaches first.
I feel like someone's ripped it out and replaced it with a clump of snow. 
Baby, please warm it like you warmed my hands that night we got lost out in the woods. 
Because this doesn't feel right. 
I don't think we were made to live like this. 
I don't think I can keep....