Yesterday he told me he loved me. Today we’re dead.
I’m too young to be dead. That’s the only thought keeping me going right now. I’d say keeping me alive but that’s a joke, isn’t it? I’d laugh if I thought it would help, but I’m afraid it’ll sound a little hysterical and once I start I won’t be able to stop. If I really am dead, I don’t want to spend the rest of my afterlife cackling away. I shouldn’t be laughing anyway because I have to remind myself I’m mad. I’m pissed, to be honest, f*****g livid, and it’s all his fault. But as always I have a problem staying angry with him because I keep hearing him say the same three words over and over again like an endless litany in my mind.
“I love you.”
And it shouldn’t, but somehow it makes everything all right.
* * * *
You can’t say we
