“fear thou not,” I whispered as she put on her makeup. she was just as beautiful without it, but she didn’t believe it.

“fear thou not,” I whispered as she slipped on the red dress. she decides that the red of the fabric will soak up the red of her blood and all will be well.

“fear thou not,” I said as her mother told her that she’d see her later. little did she know, this was the last time that she’d see her daughter’s bright fleeting eyes: wide open and sparkling against the summer sun.

“fear thou not, I bellowed as she climbed to the top of her apartment complex. as she admired the pretty Portland sunset, I thought, just for a moment, that she might change her mind.

“fear thou not,” I bellowed as she breathed in for the very last time. she must hear me. she has to hear me. why isn’t she listening?

“fear thou not,” I whispered into the wind as she fell into the infinite nothingness that would soon become her. I tried my best. heaven knows you can’t save them all. my right hand can’t hold her anymore.