The darling revisited our past pages:

  “You said such nice things in the beginning.”

  “You weaved sweet and savory.”

  “You wrote like each word was our first.”

Being a determined storyteller, I played the part between the page:

  “It’s not me, it’s you.”

  “You don’t complete me.”

  “Your death is for the best.”

The darling mourned for our lost pages:

  “But you said you loved me?”

  “Why did you even create me?”

  “What about our happily ever after?”

Being a storyteller of faith, I remained open to the unknown:

  “Yes, we shared something special.”

  “And it’s possible that someday, you may be reborn.”

  “But today, I must undo you from the page.”

Then:

 “I killed a darling, and I liked it.” 

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