I’ve seen the end before it begun. I just happened to know how this one stumps. I read the last page, it’s the God-awful truth, I know.
But that never stopped me from going back to the start, to commence a journey, to kickoff something you and I will remember for the remainder of our breaths. I picked us up, dusted us off and walk to the starting line. I knew you were with me when the warmth from your short, fast breath was on my neck and you murmured sweet nothings into my ear. Have you ever thought about why they’re called sweet nothings? Its rather obvious, actually. They’re kind, romantic words. Empty words. Nothings.
They were all hostile, our friends. They distanced themselves from our tornado. I knew why they hid under rocks when we were around. We were, after all, a ticking bomb. Heedless of what was to come, I dove into the depths you dragged me to. You drank away all her memories and I cleaned up after you. I sang the lullabies you needed me to, I voiced your fears. I remember you tracing the moonlight on my skin and I can still see you stare at me when I frown. I hate to think of how fool-hardy we were. We were lustrous and we fell into the pit of disaster just as fast as we fell in love.
We’re particularly arrogant and nasty, we fight everyday and argue about every other decision. But I wouldn’t change a thing. Because the end is still a long way off and I’m counting on the pages to keep us happy.