Author's Notes: This is my first story so bear with me...
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, if there is anything to be owned.
Summary: AU. Short poetry-story(not quite sure)about mortality.
Mortal.
Only now do I understand the meaning,
Holding my hand over your faint pulse.
My breath has already hitched in my throat,
And my composure is long gone.
I try to reassure you that I am still here,
But your hand is already growing cold.
The pain from your unfocused eyes has receded,
And on my cheek, your warm breath has ebbed away.
Everyone is mortal, mellon nin.
I just wished that you were not.
Reviews? Flames? All appreciated.
Note: The POV could be from any perspective. It's your imagination :)