What It Means To Kill.

A life is a mysterious thing.

It can span for centuries or sadly, just minutes but no matter what, a life ends.

How it ends can always be the mystery, the secret held from us until our last moments.

A secret that we know is there but never hope to figure out.

I know the secret held from me, I know how my life ends and it isn't with a gun or a knife. It won't be quick, painless but instead, something that will stretch out for an eternity and cause nothing but torment, suffering and a world of pain.

My life...

My life ends with her.

The moment I lose her, I am dead. A dead man walking with a pulse and air in my lungs, a dead man who still feels the bitterness of cold, who see's a dull world slowly passing by.

It ends, before this vile vessel could have the chance to wither away because it ends with the loss of her love.