was passionate about death...
Michael: was a passionate writer...


2. two



"Michael I can't expect that from you, my ending doesn't need explanation or to be written about, i want to be forgotten, i need to just disappear."

"I hope you know, you won't be forgotten". he mumbled.

"yeh,yeh la la". i continue 

"Remember the music i asked you to organise for the last day?" i ask him his skin pale and lifeless, as he pushes his hands into his pockets rummaging for something.

"Here, it’s a mixed tape of the songs we should play on that day.." he hands me the small tape, his hands are so cold against mine and he  smells like fresh rain.

 “Thank you".

"When will it be your last day and how will i know?"

"Why does it matter, i want to become like you?"

"Being dead Luna isn't as glamourous as you think it is, i wish you would realise that, I think you're making a mistake. Not to be nogalistic and shit but i miss the simple things of life like breathing, sleeping, eating oh but most of all feeling." His eyes pierce through me, a scowl forming on his stone face.

"I'm already numb" i respond.

In that moment his lips crush onto mine his hands are wrapped around my waist, his cold hands nipping at my top. His hand pushes me against the wall his lips never leaving mine. I feel almost as if i will pass out from lack of oxygen, his tall figure moves instantly away from me as if he read my thoughts.

He pushes his hands into his pockets, looking up at me.

"How numb are you really Luna?"

"I-I why did you kiss me that way, do you know what it's like, i can taste death on your lips and it's intoxicating, you are a deadly drug and I’m in need of an overdose". I try to speak.

"You have it all so wrong". A half smirk beginning to form.

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