It was my choice to leave, so why does it hurt so much.

The truth is that I still hold weakness, sorrow.

Everyday, I suffer the pain of her words; how beautiful they had been, how I had willingly given up a future I would have wanted for myself.

I still remember her eyes at that very moment, their piercing beauty. I still remember the sorrow in them— the tears that ran down her cheeks.

I still remember the solitary thank you I gave her. It lit her eyes like fire; some spark of hope in her soul.

Now all I can hope is that she's not dead; never knowing, no way of seeing light.

I am alone now; there's no one left for me now, and I doubt she'd want me back. I have to learn to accept that maybe this was how it was going to be anyway, no matter how painful it is thinking that I'll never see her again.

The rain is pouring down outside; I can hear it; I can smell it. The smell of mud, of wet cement. I taste the bitter memories upon the tip of my tongue. I can pretend to be strong, but at the end of the day, the haunting memories return, and as I lay here, I feel the sting of tears in my eyes.

This must be the bitter pain of loss. The pain that I've heard never goes away. The pain that will eventually destroy you.

I can see her face—feel her hair. She doesn't remember who I am; why would she?

There is nothing I can do to change my fate; this is it. This is the beginning of the end.

It was my choice, so why does it hurt so much? I fear I will never discover the answer to this. Without her, my life is only a mess of questions and puzzles that are left unanswered.

The pain will never let up. It's always with me. Always, except when I'm with her.

She is in my every thought—my every dream. Imagining life without her is what I wish I could do; never would I truly leave her.

The sorrow eats away at my heart, for there is no one who could possibly know—there is no one who can help. The beginning of the end.

But the end, for me, will never come; it'll only get worse from here, and it will never disappear.

There is no one left to turn to—so many, many things I left unsaid.

It was as she had taken her last breath and gone under. Now there is nothing left; no hope, no life, no light.

It is a huge black hole in the center of me that slowly consumes anything I have left.

And I'll never heal from this. This is all. There's never going to be a happily ever after for me, because there's no time left. It's over; my time's up.

And it's all gone—all of the almost nothing I had. Gone.

The Beginning of the End.