The rain poured down in torrents, drumming against the windows as if trying to break through, while inside, I sat motionless, staring at the flickering candle that seemed to hold the last shred of warmth in the cold, silent room. Every drop felt like a heartbeat, a reminder that the world outside was still alive, even if everything inside felt like it had stopped.

I was hoping my heartfelt apology, cooking your favorite dinner and letting you have ultimate control of the t.v. remote for the rest of the month would make amends. But upon opening the pantry and seeing you bought Unfrosted Strawberry Pop Tarts, it sent a clear, passive-aggressive message that you’re still mad at me.

François Moreau, though two seconds from ejaculating, had descended into the throes of indecision and self-loathing. The idea of bringing new life into this cruel and dying world tormented him beyond measure, but he knew that if he pulled out now, he would forever lose the only woman he had ever truly loved.

“Come on, you have to jump now!” she yells as she pulls me hard towards the edge of the bridge.

As I teeter on the edge, looking down into the rushing water, I think, If only I could see her, maybe I could tell if she’s my guardian angel or just another demon living in my head.

As the future folds in upon itself, I find myself drinking in the sky in all its glory - be it brilliant, clear blue; dotted with puffy, cotton clouds; steel gray or midnight black with pinpoints of light twinkling from a distant past.

I can't help but feel insignificant: a speck of meaningless, purposeless life in a vast universe that remains incomprehensible to my small mind, has no end in space or time, indeed, is infinite, sitting above me in shades of blues, grays and blacks that may only exist in my mind.