She let her tear fall on the paper, making a smudge of ink
out of the words that shaped her thoughts. The pen in her
hand trembled and the word she was writing came out shaky;
"Dead". Another tear dropped. It was all she could do but to
keep the whimpers inside the big lump in her throat. He was
gone, and he took her life with him, or at least, her desire
to live.
She let the pen drop on the table and to roll to the edge
until it fell soundlessly onto the carpeted floor. Her eyes
were no longer fixed on the paper in front of her; they were
staring into her memories and her heartache. They were the
darkest eyes you'd ever see; the tears streaming out only
seemed to make them darker. Though the notion had never
occurred to her, she was indeed a very beautiful woman. She
always thought of herself as plain looking, or simple. He
always claimed she was breath-taking-ly stunning, but she
never believed him, thinking he was flattering her so he
could get what he wanted out of her, or rather, inside of
her. It was thus ever since they met, it was thus for so, so
long a time, she couldn't bring up in her mind memories that
did not include him. But he was gone now.
She tried imagining life without him, and couldn't. Her
heart ached so badly she wanted to scream in agony, she
wanted to curl herself into the tiniest ball and disappear.
She had no life without him. He was her. She was him.
She was him. Half a year has past, and she was him. He was
lying on the bed on which she now sat; sleeping the deep,
dreamless sleep that usually came upon him after his lustful
craving was satisfied.  She carefully lifted his limp hand
from her breast and seated herself with her back to him,
hoping her movements did not roused him from his slumber.
She prayed her tears will make no sound. Does a tear make a
sound? She couldn't remember anymore, she was crying
silently for a long time. She's been with him for half a
year and she felt the pain coming. She knew what it meant.
She closed her eyes and held a deep breath for as long as
she could.
Then she turned around towards the sleeping man, and
awakened him. His eyes opened with a blur, and he saw in her
the darkest eyes he'd ever see, and there were no tears in
them, just a hint of long and prolonging heartache. Her
desire overpowered him, her plain and simple perfection
demanded immediate fulfillment of whatever she wished. And
so he did. Pressing, touching, caressing. And when the
moment came, as she knew it would, she said not a single
word. She made not a single sound. As the tension released
itself from every inch of her body, she gasped and was no
longer. He was gone. She was him. And she was gone also.
He who was made her stared at a shaking word on the smudge
filled paper in front of him. His eyes were no longer fixed
on that page, but rather found an escape in his memories and
heartache. He had the darkest eyes you'd ever see, and the
tears only seemed to make them darker. She was his life. She
was him. He was her.
Soon half a year will pass. Soon.