I always felt that word to be underestimated.

Murder.

See, it’s unsettling but not…right.

My perfect murder isn’t even the murder itself, it’s how I will remember the details of my act. Of course it will be an act of love. I couldn’t go out with the love of my life. I was bound to break our relationship so I broke her bones before she could break me.

My perfect murder isn’t an action. It’s a person. I don’t know her name yet or how we will meet but the people who called me cold in high school have no idea how much worse I would get.

They could not love someone as deeply as I could because my perfect murder was not based on sex. It was based on beauty, and art.

I can always convince myself it was all a dream anyway.