I stood there in the shadows, gripping the knife I'd just used to carve her name into my right arm. My eyes wandered around, taking everything in, the smell of her room, the softness of her carpet, and the beauty of her paintings. The paintings of flowers and our friends, the paintings of her mother. And the painting of me....slashed down the middle, with the knife I bought her no doubt. I walked to the side of the bed and stroked the pillow on top of her little stack, loving the way she organizes everything. I closed my eyes and slashed another inch-deep wound into my left arm, thinking of how much I'll miss her scent. I stood and let the blood drip down to the floor, then walked to her kitchen. I picked up one of her cutting blades and slashed an 'L' into my arm, next to the other wound, thinking of how I'll miss her beautiful eyes. I staggered a little bit and slashed again before I fell to the ground, this was an 'O'. I picked the knife back up and leaned against her cabinet, slashing 4 more times, bringing out more blood each time. And along with the blood, I thought back to what had happened between us. We loved each other and she thought I was cheating with some other girl, I told her I could never, but she dumped me and left. I slashed the remaining letters into my arm and bled out my memories of her, she can't hurt me now. She can only hurt my corpse.