I don't know who I am.

I don't where.

I don't know how, what or why.

I don't know who.

I don't know who you are.

I don't know who I am.

I don't know what I want, and I don't know what I have.

I'm sorry I don't understand. I'm sorry I don't know.

It's not you. It's me. It was me who let you get close. It was me who let you steal my heart straight from my chest. It was me who let you in. It was me who fell in love. It was me who thought you did as well. It was me who let my heart beat for you.

It still beats, even now. Even now, now that it's all over.

My heart still beats for you.

And I don't know why. I thought I knew who you were. I thought I knew you. I thought we understood each other.

We don't. We never did.

I was wrong, so wrong. I let myself fall. I thought you would catch me, but you didn't. It is over now. I fell. I hit. Completely over, lost, like dust in the wind. I won't fall any more. I won't expect to be caught. I won't hope.

But it's not the falling that kills you. Its hitting the ground that does.

I fell. And you didn't catch me. I didn't think you would.

So I hit the ground.

But I truly lived, for the first time, for those few seconds that I was falling. I lived more then, then in my entire life. I could feel my life running past my ears. I could hear myself calling for you, even though it was all over.

That was the best moment in my life. It was also my last.

But I don't mind.

After all, isn't it better to die young, but alive, instead of old and broken? Isn't it better to die by your own terms? Wasn't it better to die loving you, then to live, learning not to? I would rather a miniscule amount of time with love, even if it wasn't returned, then a lifetime without.

Wouldn't you?

You didn't catch me, but you taught me what it means to live.

It's funny, really, that the last moments of your life, are the ones that you live the most in.

Funny that I used my final breath to say I love you in mid-air, even though you weren't there to catch me.

Funny how the heart loves, it gives you everything before taking it all away, leaving you falling, and tumbling through empty space. Sometimes you are caught. Sometimes you aren't. That's love.

I guess that's how love works; it kills you when you once had it. It kills you after it's gone. It kills you when you have it, and when you don't.

Love, a fate far worse than death. And yet death is the only cure.

But without love, what else is there?