This was the very last that we would be together like this. The dust and camera lenses and breaking voices were nails in a coffin none of us could see. I saw you come in knuckles first, and my hands closed around my waist as I watched the planes of your chest move, quick breaths under the fabric of your shirt. You struggled up those stairs you used to know so well, and again I remembered my mouth on your shoulder and how this was all my fault.

We all paid our due in shades of black that night, just like always. I smeared the paint across my cheeks with one thumb, lips pressed together, numb with my back to the lights. I thought it would be good luck. It ran spiderwebs down to my jaw when I cried.

I'll never forget the look in your eyes when you threw those crutches down and walked. If only you had known it was the last time.