Sense
You loved me. You loved me to the point I felt you circumference me with just a look. From that distance, you created a story, a story you reluctantly shared. A story of us. A story of loss. A story of the love we both wished for, wanting, yearning, whispering, and desiring. The story that would tear others to pieces, the story that they had wished for their entire life. In the end, that story is up to you. Your little sister is not going to text you to the very end, she's going to fall asleep at 11PM. There you are, bewildered, distraught, hurt, looking for understanding. There you give up. This is life. This is peace. This is YOUR sense of being.