If I could take your place in death, would I?**

No.

I would rather bear the weight of the graves of grief and drown in the seas of sadness than let you know this kind of suffering. I would rather let my heart be torn in half out of loss than let yours be crushed by sorrow.

---

Yes.

You will feel pain and become empty and hollow but you will live and thrive and slowly be whole again and that will be enough for me as I smile down at you from the skies.

You were the exclamation point in the sentence of my feelings, a loud and restless reminder of the erratic beating of my heart whenever I saw you.

You were the comma in the first group of my thoughts, a promise of more, a promise of better days to come.

You were the parentheses in this world of paragraphs, keeping me safe within your arms, making me feel the good kind of different.

Yet too soon, you became a question mark in my head. I was slowly filled with doubt and uncertainty. You were my sanctuary but your walls were crumbling down, the beautiful book we were writing was falling apart.

You are the period. An ending. A conclusion. A warning sign that says this is the end. The problem was that I let you be anything that you could be, so you became punctuation marks in our story. You were an exclamation point, a comma and parentheses but you became a question mark and now, a period. I let you become anything so you became our ending. You are the period to the conclusion of our story but what I failed to see was that I was the one holding the pen. **You were the ending and I was the writer.

I loved you too much that I forgot to leave a small part of myself for me. My love was too much but not enough for myself. So I said goodbye even though I loved you just as much or perhaps even more than I loved the stars and galaxies. Because how could I love you right when I didn't even know how to love myself?

You talked like a song and I sounded like a poet. You saw the world like a sunrise and I only saw sunsets. Your favorite days were gloomy ones and I loved the rain.

We were alike but not quite. We were similar but not exactly the same. We weren't opposites but we were attracted to each other.

Our affection was stronger than the pull of a blackhole. We were quickly ****** into our own universe where we created our own world of songs and poems, of sunrises and sunsets, of gloom and rain.

But it was all an illusion, a sweet imagining, a lovely lie.

We were almosts, almost the same, almost the perfect equals. We had little differences but they were still polarities; and in the end, our ends didn't meet.