Alexander once had a love and he loved her immensely, more than he ever thought he could love another. She was always too busy to notice, as she should be since she was the head of the town’s newspaper. That was her true love, and Alexander was just nice company when she felt lonely.
Rarely did she feel lonely though. She was a very popular woman with many men vying for her attention. Handsome men, more so than Alexander and he knew this. He tried desperately to keep her love, to keep her eyes from wandering, to keep her happy but no matter how much he tried, she was already gone.
She never really loved him. She could never really love anyone. Her heart was black as coal and her blood cold as ice. Love required a sweet, warm, kind heart like Alexander possessed; a heart that was filled with love for her. He’d do anything for that woman but she was too blind to see it.
After they parted ways, Alexander still thought of her daily. He saw her everywhere he went. He smelled her scent in the air. Everything reminded him of her. He could never open his heart to love again. He sunk into a deep depression and committed suicide. He slit his wrist. Blood everywhere.
It was breaking news in that small town, for nothing of the sort ever happened. She heard of the man that committed suicide and was intrigued and excited to cover the story. She arrived at the bloody scene and found the blade the man had used. She was compelled to pick it up for the sight of it made her feel alive. She found the man in the next room. Never did she imagine to see Alexander lying on the bed, cold as her blood flowed.
She had never felt this feeling before. She had never lost anyone close to her before. She didn’t have anyone close to lose. She never felt sad parting with Alexander because she knew he’d always be there for her if she ever needed him. He was a reliable man that she knew would be loyal to her. But now Alexander was gone forever and she was feeling the remorse and the guilt. She never knew she’d cared so much for him until he was really gone. She always took him for granted and she wished she could turn back time, but it was too late because he was already gone.
She wasn’t able to write that story or any story for that matter, for a long time. She mourned his death and could not get over the sense of guilt she felt. She wished she’d given him as much as he’d given her. He was a good man, she knew this, and deserved more from her.
She got fired from her job because of inconsistencies in her work ethic and writing. All she thought about now was Alexander. She missed him so much. Now she had all the time in the world, but now he was gone. She realized that she cared for him deeply, maybe even loved him. She’d do anything to have him back.
Many men tried to console her, make her forget about him, but she never minded them. She didn’t want another man. She wanted to be with Alexander.
She had sunk into a deep depression as he once had. For the first time in her life, she felt alone. She hated the feeling. She hated herself for putting Alexander through that feeling. She couldn’t shake all the hate and remorse that was eating her up inside. She had kept the blade Alexander used on himself and would break down crying each time she saw it.
She had a thought that increased with every second that went by. It was beginning to sound good to her. She was beginning to get happy again. There was a smile on her face for the first time in a long time. Her heart felt love; her body felt the blood drip from her wrist—but there was no pain, only hope. She laid on her bathroom floor clutching the blade in one hand and his photograph in another. The blood flowed out of her body, lining the cracks of the tiles. The blood that once ran cold for Alexander began to consume his photograph with its warmth embrace.