My love is a corpse.
Stiff and cold, pale, no longer talking, no longer smiling, no longer feeling the warm surge of blood. Every touch feels colder than the last; every time I look back, I feel like I have to bear more sins.
It was I who killed my beautiful lover, and it was I who destroyed the happiness I once had.
I also want to use blood to pay tribute, but my blood is cold; I also want to use my soul to atone for my sins, but I have no soul.
All I can do is use this broken body and this last weak thought to search for your coffin. Like a running wild beast looking for a hunting knife, a beautiful bird looking for a cage, and a youthful and unruly heart looking for poisonous eyes.
I seek you, my love.