"Why are you doing this?" I whispered,
forehead against hers, fingers locked
together, and eyes staring
into one another's.
"Doing what?"
"This," my tone was soft, but its softness
never resembled hers nor did it
resemble the softness of her
lips, but nothing ever did.
"It's nice to be loved," she giggled.
Something hit me and I tried to dodge it, but
it felt like, I don't know, it felt like that one
second of consciousness you feel right
before you die, when you know, for
sure, that you're going to die.
{}
I expected this chapter and the one before it to be written in a better way but my mind decided to embarrass me.