These thorns are what I didn’t know, and yet they could have been what pulled me to her. The reason I stayed. Ivy had entangled our hearts, but all plants must be trimmed, just like how all flowers eventually wither. I suppose I have to be the one to cut back the snare, yet every time I try my life becomes a vanishing smoke, like the mist that covers my past.
Lying on my back, looking up at the night sky above. The fog hides the star’s twinkle, there is no moon to give me light. The snow on the ground around me soaks through my t-shirt. It chills me to the bone, and yet I don’t feel it, I don’t feel anything, I can’t see anything. It is as though my entire body has given up, as though I have died. There is no warmth pulsing from my heart. The blood that flowed through my veins lies scattered and frozen around me. It had poured out of a wound in my side. I am dead. There’s no way I can be alive, but I live on. I see a light, but it is not heaven, it comes from my hand. From the unmalting ice I am clenching. Somehow, something lies beside me colder then the snow against my wounded skin. A person. She is dead too, for it is a she. Neither of us is alive or dead. Neither of us cares. I don’t see, I don’t feel, I sense the smile on her face. And I remember how we got here.
Why is it that this is the memory that visited me? My last memory of her, of Rose. The time when my life faded from color, to red, to black. Then I see the field. The one from that night. Why am I here? Why do I let the absent thoughts dancing around my head lead me? There are so many questions now. There have been so many since that night six years ago, and none can be answered. Why am I here? Not at this field, not in this place, but why am I on this world still? Why did she go but not me? But I did leave. And I’m not coming back.
I'm sorry that this is unfinished but please comment to tell me where to go from this!
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