I remember the first time I touched your lips. It was new, different, exhilarating. It was a feeling so strange to me, and yet I felt as though I should have done it sooner. It felt ... right. 

Wherever you went, I was there. So close to you, it was as if we were one. I didn’t see much of the outside world, but when I did, you were always there to greet me. And I was always ready to be greeted. 

That’s why I was so surprised.

I thought we were happy. Really, I did. If I was wrong -- if I hurt you in the slightest -- I wish you would have told me. Only a few hours have passed and I feel as though I’m being flung in all directions. Darkness is all I see and, save for the smell of you, I am in a place most foreign. Up, down, left, right. These no longer carry any meaning to me. All that remains is heat.

In my last moments, I will spend them thinking of you. As I become less of myself, I hope, in some way, that a part of me will remain with you. 

Forever.