Soft [m.yg]

Die

"Why are you doing this?" I whispered,

forehead against hers, fingers locked

together, and eyes staring

into one another's.

"Doing what?"

"This," my tone was soft, but its softness

never resembled hers nor did it

resemble the softness of her

lips, but nothing ever did.

"It's nice to be loved," she giggled.

Something hit me and I tried to dodge it, but

it felt like, I don't know, it felt like that one

second of consciousness you feel right

before you die, when you know, for

sure, that you're going to die.

{}

I expected this chapter and the one before it to be written in a better way but my mind decided to embarrass me.