The dinner was perfect. You've set the perfect ambience across the room; lime light on the walls adjusted so that it doesn't overpower the motif you created yourself. With the table covered with warm thick cloth embroidered with victorian details you've said that were bought outside the country. At the center of the long table sits a bouquet of wild flowers and blueberries. With plates almost perfectly aligned with the silverwares that you do not even use.
But today was special day.
I stare at my eyes reflecting on the candelabras in front of me. Dark. Hollow. Staring back to me. I can see myself on the glistening wine glass, and my pale face on the steak knife on my right. I looked dismantled, fairly disheveled, with the stink of liquor under my breathe that I've been keeping from you.
You served me a plate of spaghetti. My favorite. I looked at you as you take your seat at the opposite side of mine. Your eyes locked on me with your beautiful smile unhidden between your ears. As if you already know that you've outdone yourself this time with all the efforts you've made. And you did.
My face were too tired to smile back. To tired to express any emotions at all. Apathetic. Eyes are dead. With a tear falling down on my right eye to my cheek. I remain silent, staring pass through everything.
In a few seconds, you came beside me. Hugged me tight with your chest pressed against my dry cheek. You never said a thing.
You just craddled me in your arms with your eyes closed as the blood started to flow out from the stabbed wound I made with the steak knife on your left chest. The table cloth now splattered with your blood, and the spaghetti that now would sure taste like iron. I never heard any grunt or pain. You just fell down on the floor with your arms slowly leaving my body.
I had you now in my arms with your last few breathes. You look at me with your smile not leaving your face.
"I won't ask. But I understand. I love you."
It was your last words you mumbled that made tears run down slowly on my face. The floor was now filled with my tears, with your blood, and with the blood from my throat that I slashed with the same steak knife.
The dinner was perfect. With our eyes dead, locked, staring at each other while lying on the floor.
Labels: relationship, self