She saw everything in that moment.
All the things she could have had as the man held her in the light for precious seconds. The last she remembered is a tear hitting her cheek and then she flew toward the darkness that welcomed her with open arms. She didn't enter; she was too scared of the silence. She sat there, unmoving, and waited for someone, anyone to take her back and as she did she imagined. She imagined her life as a book. The book was strong, covered with green leather that had her name engraved on it. It had tarnished gold clasps. The pages whipped past her. Black block print over every page until suddenly the book fell. Teardrops fell upon it hard and fast and, as she stared in horror, every word was washed away, sliding through the veins of the paper like blood to a wound. The book flew up once more but as it moved it changed. The tarnished clasps grew bright and reflected sights of horror she didn't want to see. As the gold shone fiercer, the vibrant green became a crimson that blossomed like a rose. But even then crimson dulled. The burning colour grew as dark as a starless night and she cried inside at the burning hateful fire that emanated from the once glorious book. The pages flew by, their words written in an inerasable ink that only told of the dark and anger. She tried to run from the book she'd made but couldn't get away from the bitter creation. Then suddenly she was flying again, flying away from the book she'd made. As she flew she forgot the horror and bright red ink and, as the light claimed her once more, she only remembered a warm teardrop hitting her cheek. She stirred in a bright but calm world and breathed happily for a few seconds. Then suddenly she felt a pain that nearly made her cry out, a burning hellfire that blurred her vision and thundered through her every vein. With her strongest will she looked up to see the familiar blonde draped face above her and she saw a smile and heard a welcome. As she drifted into sleep and let her mind wander she saw a glimpse of what would have been and, just for a second, wished she'd woken to her could have been, now never love.