Always surprised by your ineptitude, I have to believe that you will do the right thing before the end of your life.

But then, who will I be, if not a poisonous friend, a slow, talkative fraud that has done little and accomplished nothing? You would love me still.

There was no love, however, among two friends who are now enemies. Of feelings and betrayals, one stands above and is righteous and heroic, while the other one is unsavory and deceitful. What can be said of these two lovers, who had touched each other from lip to lip, and breathed through the same noses, but are now in the midst of a struggle against their feelings and their obsessions.

It stands to be that one friend will kill the other, just to make sure that one has made the right choice. One could be a woman and one could be a man, or two could be men, or one could be completely devoid of any rules of gender, and think regardless, but the dread remains inseparable. The grave will be visited and there one will stand and say a prayer, lamenting the loss and matters of revenge that have led them to perish, but a smile will creep up on a face, because the world is free at last, without the burden of a friendship weighing it down.

A moment like this, how could I ever love you again after what you have done?

What I did will be for the benefit of all, and it will be because of you, who let it happen, that I can continue indefinitely.

I can kill you, but I will do it later for my own convenience.

When we meet again, I might kill you too and then I will understand why I am the way I am, whether I can stand being without you, whether I can accomplish my dream.

They meet, inevitably, and one kills the other, reluctantly, and in tears, but it is hard to tell which is which: is it the villain, who has changed the world for the better, or the hero, who is forgotten, alone, and unknown? Where can one go if not through the threads of the world, slowly lining themselves up to show a face staring up, illuminated by stars or downwards, crying in regret?

For there are sacrifices that are never known and are enjoyed, and there are ones that are the weight of a soul, ever present, in a constant state of disbelief.

Why didn’t you love me enough? You could have been with me, and done nothing, we could have enjoyed smiling at each other forever.

Why did you force me to kill you? If you are the one I love the most and I have little else now, but everything else that surrounds me.

A death occurs and it changes the world, it shakes from pole to pole, and a battle within rages and spills over, and the whole world cries in terror and then in ecstasy, there is pain and joy.

Who has won?

Who was ever here with another?