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Sometimes, if I look at them long enough, the bars on the window will disappear for a moment and I'll be able to see the sky.

On some nights, such as this, the sky is purple and pink and a dozen different indigos.

It's a beautiful night.

Not nearly as beautiful as the night you died, of course, but beautiful all the same.

On some nights, such as this, I talk to the walls because I know they'll listen to the planned conversation I wish I could have with someone I'll never speak to again.

I know they're as lonely as I am.

On some nights, such as this, the words come quickly because I've practiced so often for a moment I'll never have, starting with a whisper and rising till I'm yelling in the hopes that you'll hear me from wherever you are.

And it ends with whispers as well, because there are some things I'm still too afraid of you listening to, if you could hear me at all over the sounds of the rain and the wind and whoever's out there screaming obscenities in a different language somewhere in the darkness.

But on some nights, such as this, as much as I try to forget, I cannot help but remember you.

I wonder if you wanted it to end up this way.

I wonder if you knew it would turn into something like this.

I wonder if you knew I'd tell them all exactly what happened, because I'm no liar, I never have been, and I'd tell them your body was by the river because I wasn't going back there to show them, and they found you without my help and collected all the evidence they didn't even need because I'd confessed already.

I'm no liar, I hope you know.

Only criminals have something to hide.

Only those who don't have permission.

Did you know they'd lock me in a cement box with seven rusty bars on the two-by-two window, the bars that disappear on some nights such as this, when I start thinking too much about things I wish I could forget, counting raindrops and wishing I could close my eyes?

I wonder what you knew and what you didn't. I wonder what you didn't care about, because by then you cared for so little.

Did you still care for me?

Did you ever?

You said you did when you had me promise.

But maybe I'm the only one who doesn't lie.

I only remember small things of that night.

You were wearing a dress of your favorite shade of red and I had drank far much more liquor than any other time in my life.

But a drunken promise is a promise nonetheless and of all the terrible things I am, a liar is not one of them.

I am no liar and I do not go back on my word.

And I promised I'd do it when you asked.

And as much as I prayed it wouldn't I knew the time would come.

You could try to walk in a straight line forever but you'll hit a wall eventually.

I knew it would happen at night.

And it was a beautiful night to die.

You must've thought so too, because we were by the river and the sky was the color of suffocation and that's when you told me you wanted me to take the knife you knew was in my pocket and stab you wherever I thought it would work best.

You were certain.

That's the only reason I did it, I hope you know.

If there'd been even the slightest hesitation in your voice I would've said no.

But I said nothing.

I said nothing because you did all the talking.

You said you'd almost asked me six times before. You said you'd almost done it yourself. You said you didn't care how it happened as long as I was sure it would work.

You said you knew how I'd do it. You said you knew I'd already planned this moment, like I planned everything else.

You said you'd been ready.

You thought you were.

And I guess I'll never know if you were right.

You smiled, a little.

That's when I had to look away.

Of all the terrible things I am, all of my disgusting qualities, one of the worst is my impulsivity.

Because I couldn't stop myself, once you said so, once you said go ahead

It was too fast and too slow at the same time.

Watching someone else break a restaurant's-worth of plates. One at a time, one at a time.

A million tiny pieces and for some reason you can't bring yourself to stop it.

There was no noise that night.

No screaming or fighting or trying to escape.

The only thing I heard was my heartbeat.

-

I hate talking about myself, I hope you know, but on some nights, such as this, I have nothing else to do.

Do you know what I think about? Do you know what occupies my thoughts on a night such as this?

A promise made in a voice laden with alcohol and a tiny silver knife and a sky the color of fresh bruise

And you

You were still beautiful, even with the blood soaked down your dress. Even more so then.

Is crimson still your favorite color?

I have too many questions. Too many questions I'll never be able to ask.

What do you think of me? Of what I did to you even though you told me to?

How much did it hurt?

I didn't want to hurt you.

I didn't ever want to hurt you in any way.

And I only looked at you once, I know you know.

And I hope your tears came from physical pain.

-

I cried, I hope you know.

A moment after the pain left your eyes–I could still see the green in the dark, I hope you know–and the knife was still in your chest because I couldn't touch it, it was poisoned now, and I turned away from you and I would never ever see you again and I looked instead to the purple sky and it was such a beautiful night

God, I cried like the world had ended and I was the only one left.

Because I hadn't wanted to do it.

Even though I'd told you the opposite.

And that is my deepest lie.

But I wanted you to be happy and I thought if you were I would be too. I thought maybe I could do something for you, help you in some way, make something better and maybe it would turn out alright.

I was wrong, of course.

I'll never admit it but I usually am.

Are you happy?

Maybe now, now that you're wherever you are?

That's all I wanted, I hope you know. All this time. I just wanted you to be happy, regardless of how that left me.

That's love, I think.

I still love you, I hope you know.

I wish I could've proved it some other way.