When I met you, you were the most beautiful and innocent angel I had ever seen. I absolutely had to have you. So pure, so… corruptible.

I broke you down. I didn’t want my angel flying away. I charred off your precious wings, pulled you down to Earth. I bound you in chains of self-doubt.

You told me you loved me.

What have I done?

“I’ve never felt so alive,” you said. You poor girl… How could you just give up so easily?

I tore you away from everything familiar. I tore out everything that made you holy, replaced it with apathy and chemicals. Your happiness comes in little plastic bags now. 12-count, double-stack.

What have I done?

Now I stand before you. I place the gun to my chest, your hand on the grip. “I’m so sorry,” I say. You smile at me, a tear hesitates in the corner of your eye.

“No, baby. Don’t be sorry,” you say. “I feel wonderful. Like I was never truly alive until now.”

I watched you change. Now it’s as if you never had wings.

Will you ever know what has been done?

Please forgive me.