The vivid colours once my imagination now took over my life. Haunting thoughts stained my mind like clots of blood. A vision. It felt like internal bleeding. It was harsh. There I lay, the car reversed back from my limp body. Voices filled the background; my sight beyond my control. His shadow still haunted me though, lingering. The whispers and shouts of the abstract image around me felt like a time- bomb ticking in my ears. The quieter the voices got, the louder the alarm went off. If only I could answer, say something. I couldn’t. My throat sucked back my words. Chocking me. I had no blood on me. I was okay, physically at least. My sight returning to me greeted me with his face. He was standing there, frozen in time. Frozen in thought. Bleeding, but no one tended to him. All eyes were on me. The taunting words resonating in my mind couldn’t express themselves. They just sank deeper, dragging my heart down with them.

I was in no control of what was once mine. He didn’t move. His eyes, black beads were glazed with ice; Crackling ice. Blots of blood on breaking ice; hauntingly beautiful. Just like what we had. My thoughts forming in the past tense sank my heart. It was now a heavy rock. Heavy with nostalgia. ‘Let me go’ it screamed. It seemed to struggle to voice it out. But I could hear it, only I could.

My eyes wavered around; people were now picking me up. I couldn’t feel their touch. It felt like I was floating, but where to? My eyes fought through the crowd to look at him once again. But he was gone. The statue of my dreams was now crushed rubble with blood stains. Why is it always too late? My breath hardly existed anymore. It was entwined with the frozen words inside me; Suffocating me. I gasped.

The black beads appeared again. They told the story of a broken man; they were a thing of beauty. Only I couldn’t find myself in them anymore, but I could find him. The black beads now reflected in the mirror are a composition of our unity; in me, yet his. His words, my words; one. Entwined artfully forming a cliché; love at first sight. My life, an extended metaphor in itself was now on the brink of a harsh climax.