Disclaimer: Dude, I don't even own a fish, what makes you think I own two of the most beloved fictional characters in English literature?
Decay
I gaze upon your face. It looks calm, peaceful even, as though you were merely asleep.
I wish to God that you merely slept. Then I would not feel as though my heart has been cut still beating out of my chest with a blunt instrument.
Although you look the same as you always have, my love, you do not smell the same-your scent was warm and clean, comforting. Now there is the stench of death upon you, sickly and bitter-sweet and horrid. I can remember occasions where you have smelt like this before, but in the previous occurrences, it was simply because you had been among the dead. Now you are part of them, you belong to them and not to me any longer. Perhaps this is proof that you never did belong to me.
I release a breath I didn't know I'd been holding and inhale, the smell of the gangrene in your wound assaulting my nose afresh. That wound, such a small thing to take you from me--I hate it. I hate that I was powerless to stop the gunshot. I hate the odor of death that permeates the air.
I hate that I can already feel my heart dying without you, blackening and decaying.