The Act of Falling out of Love

Lipstick hearts haunt her thoughts. Their dark red hue stark on the tan skin of another.

Red.

The swift change of the traffic light sends her lurching, skidding to a stop. Although the yellow appeared first, she did not heed its warning.

She should have looked, paid attention to the clues, and noticed the signs. She should have seen the changes, should have noticed the drifting and disregard.

Now she sits, watching the blood fall from the gaping wound in her chest.

Drip.

Drip.

Five words spurring it on. repeating with every beat of her heart:

I don't love you anymore.