Her tears fell in ravenous storms, blurring the ground with a dying ache. Clear rivers mixed with tanged, bitter blood- yet it looked so tantalizing still. It was marvelous, yet a horrifying scene that I wished I would never lay my eyes on again. It was good, yet bad all the same. In my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder how it had come to be this way. What had provoked our end, what about our beginning? Light was simply a distant memory, a tear in the gentle fabric of what was once us, was once affection, was once care. Now, it simply was replaced by a cold, sheer, unrelenting wind current that threatened to blow me off the cold cliff we stood on. Or, to phrase it more realistically; the cliff I stood on, the cliff I killed her on- the cliff she died on. It was a sad sight, truly. A bitter end to our love song. Though, I should’ve expected this from the beginning, I knew. I has been played a fool. Happy cheers and celebrations felt like dreams, a sickening, horrible dream. Or maybe ‘‘twas the reality I lived in- I knew not. A red, crimson balloon- much like the blood that soaked the crumbling hill- much like the blood that swam around my black-laced shoes- had been both our end, and our beginning. This I knew more than my very breaths, more than my guilt. I’d killed her.