Was There Ever Such A Thing As A Guidebook For Farewells
He was the best thing that ever happened to me. He turned my world upside down, inside out. It was as if I was drifting through life before him, when he came to me I found a reason to live. I loved the chaos he left in his wake every time he opened his mouth, we were so different, poles apart and yet when I was in his arms I felt complete, flawless, vibrant, exuberant and beautiful. He had an annoying habit of blurting out the first thought that crossed his mind. I adored him. He told me I was the only one he would every love.
He lied.
He left me. I had given him all of me, I had asked for very little in return, just his complete and total affection and a little faith. He said he couldn’t be with me anymore because I was too passionate; I loved him too much. Too much for my own good. My devotion scared him so he left me. He left me for Malibu Barbie. The flawless work of an army of plastic surgeons. She did not love him, she just loved his wealth, his social security, his various properties scattered across the globe. He surely did not love her either. It was all pretence. She got the great name of his father and he acquired an existence without the acknowledgement that he had disappointed his parents. He loved his parents but they never really understood him, his needs and desires, his aspirations. No one but I could give him what he needed.
I was the only one who could make him happy. I knew he would understand. In happier times we would have laughed merrily together, plotted and planned, perfecting the execution of the plan. Now I was left to carry the burden on my own.
I was doing this for him. He would know one last time how much I had loved him and that I would still love him when I was no longer around.
How could he think that I could live without him? I was addicted, there was no going back. I took the dagger and slowly plunged it into my heart savouring the numbing sensation that flowed through my body. There is something so crudely romantic about death claiming the soul via a poisoned dagger, spreading slowly from limb to limb caressing the life out of the body. This was the most poetic moment of my existence. I was dying for love or was it because of love? His love had poisoned my thoughts. I was only finishing what he had started. He would surely see the irony. The pain that came was sweet, it was for my beloved. The little droplets of my ruby blood flowed down my torso a tribute to our time together. They would always belong to him. I was the only man for him and he would be brought to acknowledge it.