I'm watching her as she stands there right in front of me. She looks beautiful, like an angel. Like a goddess. It's almost as if the sun has been made solely to provide a spotlight for her. And it serves that purpose well, well, well.

I watch the way the light hits her, the way it dapples her clear, silky cheeks, the way it accentuates the curve of her sweet, soft lips and ignites the streaks of gold in her thick sorrel mane. I see it all, every last detail. But those blue eyes of hers are closed, and she doesn't catch me in return.

"Open," I whisper, more to myself, as a token of my own genuine desperation, than as a plea to her. "Open," I whisper again as a sigh starts to wrack through me.

We're so close to having everything be so perfect.

I don't want this to end now. I want her to open her eyes and see the love in mine.

I know that she's reckless, hapless, careless, as free as the wind that whistles past her beautiful face, but if she ever just took the time to look my way, I know that she'd love the man she saw. I know that she'd call forth from within her the capacity to feel for me just as deeply as I feel for her. As I have always felt for her and always will. I know for sure that we could be happy together.

If only she would open her eyes.

Everything is still. But I don't even care about that—all I care about is that she is perfectly still, too, other than the subtle rise and fall of her chest.

I find myself reconfiguring the rhythm of my own breathing to match. I want to be around her and bask in her warmth forever. I want to open my mind and learn from her, everything I can. For she can teach me anything, even how to master the complicated art of breathing.

"Open", I beg one more time. And this is the last time; I'm sure of it, in the back of my head and in the back of my heart. No matter what happens next, I will not ask her again.

And then I see a twitch in her eyelids. I see them start to flutter.

My breath catches in my throat. Unconsciously, my hands find each other and clasp together, tightly, passionately. Seeking comfort from my own self.

As if I won't ever be able to find it from anyone else.

That's when everything changes.

I should've known. The whole time, I should've seen it coming. I should've been able to predict so easily how this would end.

But I didn't, and now I feel my heart breaking over her all over again.

Just before I get to wade in the river of blue that she's about to reveal from me, just as I tenderly lunge forward to take her hand for my own, the world slows around me. When that fateful breeze rolls in it's a tangible thing. I swear I can see the currents of air as they race towards her hungrily, jealously. They want to have her. And so I can't.

The breeze hits her.

And suddenly she's nothing but a million tiny pieces dancing erratically through the wind.

B

Not even dancing, though. They're not graceful and that's how I know they don't harbor any part of her anymore. The pieces are jerking, having fits and spasms as they're carried off in the ravenous clutches of wind.

She's opened alright. And now I've lost her because of it.

That was the last time and now she's gone.

I let my mouth fall into the familiar misery that formats my heartbroken wail. I've been here one too many times before, but I thought that things were finally getting better. I never thought I'd have to come back.

Should've known better.

And then the pieces start to swarm back together, and my heart stops pumping again.

She can't be coming back. I don't give myself the chance to hope this time. I won't risk it, not this time. I already know that there is no way my pleading prayers were loud enough to make a difference. I'm holding enough sadness to fuel the rest of the world for as long as it goes on and it's still not enough. I don't even want to see what happens next.

But I can't take my eyes away. Closing them is not easy, not at all as easy as she made it look.

I'm forced to stare, first with shock, then numbness, then cold-blooded horror as I realize what the pieces are rearranging themselves into.

It's too late to stop them. It's too late to stop myself.

I feel myself hitting the ground. Every second of it is painfully clear, completely obvious to me. I'll never forget it. It'll never let me.

I look up with feeble, helpless pity at the silhouette of him, her boyfriend.

His eyes are open. They're brown.

He carefully lifts one of his giant's hands and waves at me. He smiles. It's almost like he doesn't know what he's done.

It's almost like he's blissfully unaware that he's just stabbed me in the heart and spit on my grave.

But that can't be it. Pain like this can't be so easy to shrug off. Suffering like this can't be so invisible to someone else's eyes. It just can't.

Then he walks away and it's my turn to open my eyes.

The world turns white and it's my time to wake up from one nightmare straight into the next.