She ran towards me once we met eyes. I could hear her toes on the pavement as she sprinted and they shook me to the core. In all honestly, I was not ready to start my demise. In more honesty, I was not ready to begin hers.
Her high pitch voice spoke sharply, inhaling quickly and rambling out her words in a jumbled mess. She proclaimed the melancholy times, the bleak times, the only times of beauty. The shriek of her words contrasted the mature and grown quality of the phrase-- she was stuck in her childish nature only by nature and she could not escape.
I put my hand on her waist and embraced her frame. It was too hard to look her in the eye. How could one show their face when it was the other’s destruction? It seemed selfish, illogical, even. I loved her too much to admit to her my doings. My guilt, my stubbornness had evaded every chance of her blooming.
She could have flourished. She could have grown. Her silhouette was a flower in the Garden of Eden that swooned in the wind. It was I, the Forbidden Fruit, that corrupted every chance she had at purity. She was colorful and full of vibrancy. The light reflected off of her bright petals and shone into my eyes. It was so bright I could not see-- I was blinded by my love, my lust, my feelings. My chariot swerved off of the path she created with the callouses on her rough hands.
She pulled away after my agonizing self-review and stared at me. I was compelled to turn away, to run to where I could lay down, my hands out, palms out, and be lifted into the clouds. It was too much of a burden, though-- I was about to leave the girl with an electrifying revelation, I could not abandon her, too.
Her eyes pierced me in the chest. It was as if she could see the cracks in my bones and the beginning of my descent. I was swimming in the ice-cold stare, trying to drown and freeze myself before I could light her soul on fire.
And then I told her. She sunk to the ground and looked at me. Her eyes were a dull shade of grey now. They couldn’t pierce me anymore, all they could do was put a fine polish over my bitter nails. Her muscles were deflated, her eyes filled with raindrops sent straight from her sky. We lacked the basic ability to talk to each other; we always have. Instead of leaving, instead of speaking, we were statues. The only movements in our museum were the tips of her hair parting in the slight breeze.
I began to cry. It was too much for me-- I couldn’t accept the fact that I did the thing that she always told me not to. My tears hit the concrete and slumped downhill. They began the new journey that I would never be able to embark on.
I inched towards her, my knees tearing on the spikes of the ground. I put my thumb on her chapped lip and prayed for some sign of life in her head. She quickly stood and ran away from me, into the darkness of the forest that I always told her not to go to. We were both at the end. This was our sad culmination of our love-- a valley where there should’ve been a mountain.
As I wiped the blood off of my tattered pants, the skies cleared. The sun beat down on me like a blinding light. I limped into the forest and hoped that I’d never return.
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