I'm running down the street with a bloody knife in my left hand, the soles of my shoes springing off the pavement every second as I try to escape.
This isn't how it's supposed be, I think to myself. But what were the alternatives, really? Go on living as if nothing mattered, repress everything and become a productive member of society? To hell with that. There had to be more to life than that—than this. Even if it meant destruction, I'd be willing to pay that price so long as I could say I was able to utilize my free will.
And I did. Beautiful chaos, it was, watching that bitch bleed into the ground. She couldn't love me: not for reasons that made sense, but because attraction is fickle and emotion cheap. I never did her wrong before. I would have been everything she needed. It's not enough to feel you could fit into another person's soul; they have to want it, too.
Isn't it strange, then, that you could want it and want it and want it so bad you could die, and yet die without ever attaining it? Strange to feel such things for no reason at all. I never quite understood how people meet each other. Seemed like such luck, or settling. Lonely lot, we all are. But I refused to settle for anything less than the object of my desires, so maybe I've only got my stubbornness to blame.
I couldn't take it. Watching her love another. Watching her force herself to fit into someone that wasn't meant for her—someone cruel and selfish and unrefined. "The heart wants what the heart wants," she'd say. I already knew, though, that her heart wanted to suffer. And I guess, in the end, so did mine.
She couldn't love me, so now she can't love anyone.
I know exactly what I've done and I wouldn't change it even if I could. Ending her misery was the only thing that ever made sense in my mind; that, or ending mine. But that just would've been way too easy, now, wouldn't it?
Breathe in, breathe out. I'm still running down the street from absolutely nothing. They'll find me eventually. I know that. But for now, I want to feel the crisp winter air freeze my lungs and stall the blood in my veins. I want my mind to erase itself and rewrite time. I want two lovers somewhere in the world to realize they don't need each other and that they're better off alone. I want the blood on my hands to stain. But most of all, I want to pretend that I'll see her again in the afterlife and that she'll understand why I had to do it.
She'll understand that I had to carve a hole into her chest so there could be a place for my love to fit.