the final page

You’re a knife made for drawing blood.

And you’re the kind of metal that gets forged into armour.

But you have a softness like rain-soaked soil when it is only me running my hands through your words.

All the bullets threaten to make you bleed but you just smile as if that alone can save you.

Apocalypses follow us everywhere but there’s no reason to flinch when your silhouette is beside mine.

My demons are at our doorstep and your warmth is the only thing keeping them at bay.

It’s all just laughter and hardening skin until I am pushed to my breaking point.

They sought your blood like they once yearned for your safety, but I am still here, still forged around you like armour.

Every story has a goodbye eventually. Every book has a final page. This is ours.

I begged you to stay but now the shadows are creeping closer and I’m beginning to realise, I am a knife, crafted for one purpose and one purpose only.

I only know my return is too late when the ground starts falling from beneath my feet.

I’m sorry I couldn’t hold on longer.

I scour the galaxy for the softness you hid beneath your ribcage, but all that is left of you is cold ice and sharp edges.

You took your warmth with you when you left. I couldn’t fend them off on my own.

Come back to me. Dance with me in the sunlight. Hold me under the starlight. Leave these shadows behind.

You were too late.

Please.

...

I’m so sorry.