I feel really bad about waiting so long to update on Life Sucks. But I am working on new chapters so please bare with me. I don't know. But going through a recent not good romance, or lack there of, I decided to write this. And I don't mean to make anyone feel bad, you know who you are, but this is one of the ways I express myself. And with out further a due *curtsies*

He Loves Me Not

I can feel the sand beneath my toes. It feels harsh and grainy, yet warm and pleasant at the same time. So much like my own life.

I can't describe how I feel; amazingly happy and at peace with the world one minute, then the next I feel nothing but cold harsh terror, and I think suicidal thoughts.

I inhale the salty air of the sea, and I feel it linger on my senses. I'm at the Virginia Beach, wandering around on the bare seaside, wearing a flowing sundress, with my shoes in hand, and my heart in hell.

He loves me not, is what he said. I know he doesn't mean to hurt me, but I feel like being sick every time I think about it. I look ahead and see a lone man, with an easel, painting a picture of the beautifully stormy sea.

I stand far behind him, but can still see the artwork. I see the beauty of the crashing waves, the rich colors of blue and green and white and purple mixing in the air, as they crash against the jagged rocks near shore.

Like my life, the waves are calm and fluid one moment, then angry and violent against the Cliffside the next.

I take one last look at the man, adding lightening in the background, and then I'm off again, carefully climbing up the side of the cliff.

I'm at the top; it seems like the top of the world. The dark sea stretches on endlessly. I feel the wind flowing around me; I raise my arms and spin like I used to do when I was a child. I raise my arms and step near the edge.

He loves me not, is what he said.

I look over and see the young man with the painting staring at me for a moment, before shouting out as I lean forward. I can see the dark thunderclouds in the distance. I fall forward, my arms stretched out, my dress flowing behind me. I feel like I'm flying and I begin to cry, I wish I could feel this free forever. Out of the corner of my eye I see the man running toward me, his painting forgotten.

'What a shame, the painting might ruin,' I think as I crash against the sea, my wrist breaking against a rock, so that I feel white-hot fire race up my arm.

I inhale, knowing perfectly well that water lies all around me. I feel the cold water fill my lungs up slowly, burning my throat, and making me feel sick. I look up at the waters surface as I slowly sink into oblivion.

He loves me not, was what he said.

And now I wish I knew why.

Whoa. That was rather depressing. I have no idea where that came from. Well I do, but I didn't realize how angsty it was until I just reread it. What kind of sicko am I? Ah well. Read and review please.