There was a fire. It burned for you. Enveloping my heart when you were near. I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe, with smoke rising up. Smothering.

I often dreamed what it would be like if you had reciprocated. If my love wasn't left unrequited. In another world it could be different, if we weren't who we were.

I gravitated towards you, drawn somehow by an outside force. Maybe it was your soft features, framed by your honey colored hair. Your hazel eyes captured my attention, and when I was caught, I panicked. My eyes always fell away, afraid of what judgement may fall upon me. When I confessed, your voice echoed your dissent. The painstaking truth, ashamed of my wayward thoughts. Your gentle lips did not welcome mine. Confusion swirled in the hazel pools of your eyes. Disgust spread across your face. Heels clacked against the floor as you escaped.

I worked fervently to keep you out of my head, out of my dreams, out of my reality. You were always at the back of my mind, ripping through to the forefront more times than I could count. I used to be so confident, so fearless.

I wondered how long I could feel like this. A prisoner to my own emotions. Existing on nothing but hope.

How cruel to be able to hold out for something that never could be. Letting your dignity slip from your hands while you so desperately cling to a minute shred of hope. It never brings you happiness or comfort. Just more pain. More heartache.

I reached into my nightstand, my fingers gripped around the cold metal. I slid it out of the holster and pulled it close to me. I can't do it anymore. I am broken.

My thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ringing of a phone.

I turned my handgun on myself, placing the barrel against my temple, pressing against my olive skin. My hands steadied as I cocked the weapon.

"...Leave a message after the beep."

"H-Hello… hey," she tripped over her words. "If you are there…" A desperate voice came through the machine.

Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to fall. Memories of her came flooding back.

"Please answer… Please.." She choked back tears. "I just really need to her your voice."

I inhaled sharply, trying to steady my hands once more.

"Jane.. I just need a friend… My friend." The line went dead after a disheartening beep.

Hope is an evil weapon that can make even the strongest person cling to a falsified reality. One that was created by the weakest delusions, creating a false sense of reassurance. Inklings drawn as conclusions to situations that never add up. Hope is a sick son of a bitch.

My grip loosened, my firearm clattering onto the wood floor. I left the tears fall, painfully sobbing into the darkness.

Alone.