The first scene:
I stand at the end of a long
(and winding)
gravel driveway,
my heart pounding
and I can’t quite put
my finger on why
I’m trembling.
Lightning strikes, illuminating the sky
with a brilliant flash
and if I squint,
I can see a figure appearing and reappearing
as the lightning
comes and goes.
On.
Off.

The second scene:
The gravel driveway becomes an empty room
with nothing but a flickering lightbulb
hanging from the peeling paint
and the misplaced ceiling tiles.
Somehow, you’ve gotten closer.
You reach for something on your hip
The light goes
On.
Off.
The razor blade gleams
(almost smiles) at me in
the dim light.

The third scene:
Your face is practically touching my own.
Your eyes are empty, a void,
so unlike the ones I used to know.
You raise your hand, blade clutched
tightly within your fingers
and you strike.

The fourth scene:
I wake up in a cold sweat
and I try to recall the warmth of your eyes,
the usual tight embrace,
to banish the void.