... it was odd. Seeing my body lying there. As I floated above it. I thought: At least I left looking pretty. The red striking against the now paleness of what was once my skin. The knife was still stuck in-between two ribs. Looking like it belonged there all along.
The police were called. and they brought an ambulance with them. I laughed. They were three hours to late. both souls had fled: my own soul from the body that was once mine and the one who killed me.
I followed my body to the morgue. It was beautiful. The way they opened me up. took me apart. Looking for my secrets. Looking for who killed me.
They ran in circles. From him to her, accusing all who once loved me. They told them the truth about me, hoping it would cause them to tell truths. I watched as faces turned to shock, sadness and rage. For them all to find out that they were not alone in my love.
Month later, I was buried. Finally. The police never did find who killed me. Funny. The person was always under their nose.
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