A year has passed by and I see your phantom beckon. I smile wryly and find myself underneath the Mistletoe. In the dark shadow, I see your face in the shallow grave. Black as your heart. My eyes falter to meet yours. A memory of the hurt and the hate. Beauty pales with time, so does love. Your gaping jaws speak the unspoken. Maggots crawl over you, writhing in slime. Your swollen fingers curled above the dirt, reaching out. Waiting for me to grasp them. To pull you out or to drag me in. The putrefying stench churns my guts. I step back, nauseated. I hear a shrill cry as I walk away. You were my life. Now you are more dead than death.
I've never done this before. Neither have I. I think it's too early. I'm not sure if I'm ready. I'm scared. I feel funny. Is it supposed to be like this? I always thought it would be different. Not with you. Never with you. I can do without this. Oh, I don't need this either. What about tomorrow? Yeah, today won't be the same after this. We won't be the same after this. There's no turning back. It feels right though. I feel fine. Alright, I'll do it. I'll do it. I love you. I love you.