I have read a death, and I am falling, failing, falling. I am living this life, this life already and never lived, and I am living it as my own. It hurts –
– I have read a death. I am holding her, wishing I could hold her, and yet still so far away. She is touchless, locked from me. Lost inside me. Lost from me. Outside, inside, never quite there.
I have read a death. I have read it a thousand times before and yet each time it comes to me new. It comes without warning, and it comes with knives, sharp and ready to cut me open.
I have read a death, and I am lost. I am caught in the shadows, the rising darkness that pulls me to the edge and makes me see the nothingness beyond it.
I have read a death. I will never be unable to unread it. I will never be able to take it back. I will never be able to stop this from happening. I will never be able to just – be – with this person. I will never be able –
I have read a death.
And I am blinded by it.