|Don't cry for me
Author: HurtMe PM
Sometimes, the thoughts are what lead us to this place.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst - Words: 432 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 12-16-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2979936
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I was thinking about the Christmas presents under the tree, and those that are back-ordered. It's too late to return them now, and I doubt that you even would; it will all become a waste of money and something else to haunt you on sleepless nights. I was thinking about how the blood will pool on the floor and how little pieces of my brain are just going to be another stain on the carpet for some minimum-wage cleaner to struggle with. I was thinking about how it's winter, and it will be be cold at the funeral, but you probably won't wear a scarf like you should because you know I loved them, and it will hurt you too much to remember. I was thinking about what I'm doing to you, about how you're going to have nightmares about the sound of the gun for the rest of your life.
But thinking about the things I'm leaving behind can only do so much, because it's the things I'm leaving behind that are exactly the point. Life doesn't exist on only one end of a spectrum.
I was thinking about how you'll be free after this – how you can go on that trip to Ireland you always wanted without my job holding you down. I was thinking about the nights that you'll spend in other people's beds, orgasms ripping through your body untainted by my constant jealousy. I was thinking about how you won't have to deal with stuffed penguins in the bed anymore, since I love them and you've always hated them. Now you'll have more room for your kittens. I was thinking about how you can't be scared of something that has already happened.
I'm tired down to my bones and I can't do this for much longer. The pen is too heavy in my hand like my head was always too heavy on your shoulder. This wasn't the way that things were supposed to end, but I never could get the words right. I was thinking that this was the wrong way to write a suicide note, and that I should leave you with something a hell of a lot prettier. But I was thinking that at this point, it doesn't matter. Thinking doesn't belong here anymore.
Try not to cry for me, love. I'll be sitting somewhere in the bowels of Hell far away from here, and all of these thoughts won't matter.