I see you're crying again. The last time I saw you you were crying. You were standing in the exact same position as you are now. Your left hand on the rail attached to my bed and your right tightly balled in a fist pressed between your breasts. The bed I am in now is much nicer though and so is the room. I'm not sure what the tears are for but I am concerned. Prior to your last visit everything was great. We had a nice time together. The memory of what exactly took place is a bit fuzzy but I get the feeling it is nothing to cry about.

“Is it over?” she said to the cool quiet dark of the room. His answer was silence. He doesn’t know the answer to that question. He supposes it is but why? This question was inevitable. The silence between them grew larger. She rolled over and put her hand on his chest. Her hand was cold as usual.

The gun lays on the nightstand on her side of the bed. He glances at it briefly. What is it doing there? He is alone tonight. It happens rarely and when it does it gets dark. The darkness is comforting. An old friend of sorts. Has it always been this way. Not exactly. He used to have a smile that was real. At one time there was substance to his gaze. Not now though. Darkness is here. It hugs him gently, calling him down into its void.