You have the palest skin that I have ever seen; smooth, flawless skin, clinging to the inside of my palms as I hold you with shaking hands. Your veins are thin, elegent and symetrical, alternating between baby blue and faded red that's nearly pink. Sometimes I can picture the blood coursing through them, shooting through your delicate frame to make you come alive.
But you were never really alive, were you?
I have so many questions for you, and yet only one can bubble to my lips: How could you? No, honestly, how could you cause me this much pain? Did... did you not feel any remorse? Or maybe even regret, just the tiniest bit of regret, making you shift uncomfortably after I gave you everything within me? Nothing, whatsoever?
As far as I can see, you're as indifferent as ever. And that really hurts, you know? All that time ago, I thought it was funny that you liked to keep quiet; I thought it was adorable, vulnerable in a way, and I couldn't let you go. Instead, I would sit with you, wrapped up in your magical silence, and we would pass the time like that - just the two of us, no spoken words passing between us. And yet... here we are, and you feel nothing. You hear nothing. Not my sobs, not my cries of pain, not my angry yells or sarcastic remarks...
The place where my heart used to be is still warm, or warmish, anyway - just thought you'd like to know. You had torn at it so maliciously, after all, I figured you might've gotten somewhat attached.
I'd tried so hard. I'd tried not to scream as you dug your fingers through the left side of my chest, the same blank, uncaring expression eminating out of every move you made. I'd tried to swallow down the horror as you held my heart in the palm of your hand, your pale and smooth skin smudging with my blood. My heart whimpered pathetically, trying to beat out in the open, but it couldn't, and it wasn't long before your palm closed like a cage over it. And I'd tried not to cry, making inhuman efforts to keep my eyes dry and focused as you walked away from the crime scene, my heart in tow.
I want you to know that I'm not done trying. I will win this fight that we have going on between us. You may have gotten my heart, but my spirit is another thing entirely.
I hereby bring you to rest; you have no power over me.
-
I looked at the notebook papers with the big "F" marked on them in a bright red marker one last time before tossing them aside. "Right," I muttered, "Now for the retake."
