The grip of the knife feels too familiar in my hand.
You stand, suffocating, against the wall.
The death of the villain in my story lingers at the tip of fate.
“I never loved you,” I say, lining up the knife to her heart.
Crimson blood flows from her chest.
A salty tear flows down my cheek.
That’s when I realize I loved her.

i felt numb.
everything was falling around me.
one moment she was well, the next she was ill.
one moment she was up, the next she was bedridden.
one moment she was there. the next she wasn’t.
everybody called it losing her, but she wasn’t lost. no matter where I went, I couldn’t find her.
she lay in the coffin, with her mouth stern and her eyes closed. her face was empty, which was the opposite of its look in life. but the worst feeling was the creak of the coffin lid and the thought of her packed away in a box and sunk into the earth forever. never coming back.
i opened a well-worn piece of paper in my hand. her familiar handwriting stared at me.
when you are troubled, remember: He will strengthen you and help you. He will uphold you with His righteous right hand.
i crumpled it, my hand stained with ink from my tears.
she was still gone.