I don't know how long i've sat here.

I really don't care anymore.

About myself, about anything.

Anything but her, that is.

She was all I had left to care about, all that kept me going. I wrote my song, her, and she knew it, most likely the last thing she ever did. I had put my life into that song, my entire, goddamn, fucked up life, and she had killed it, killed herself, killed me. Had I been given the chance, I would have stayed in my current, fatal position forever, bent over her, my head buried in her neck, the ever constant, deafening lack of pulse ringing in my ears. But unfortunately, my friends still cared, they still had the will power to go on. But then again, they had not lost their one internal song, or the one thing they had ever worked to create, had poured all their love and energy into, and in the end been left with none themselves. Drained, empty.

It must have been hours, days maybe, until they finally dared to approach me. It did make sense after all, it wasn't as if the landlords' affection for us would be increased by any means if a dead body was found in our flat. But that didn't at all mean that I appreciated their half-hearted attempts to force me back to the land of the living. A hand landed hesitantly on my shoulder, shaking me lightly, and i gave no response. Maureen's choked voice whispered something above me, but it was impossible to make out. Great, now they were talking about me. The room remained silent for a few moments, until a small crash came from a few feet away, and footsteps pounded across the hard, concrete floor. The next hand that landed on my arm was not as gentle as the first, nor as hesitant. Fingers closed around my upper bicep and I was yanked into a sitting position, a strangled gasp escaping me as she was torn away from my grip.

Again, i didn't move. I wasn't even sure if i was capable anymore. The grip on my arm was still there, squeezing me so strongly that it almost hurt, but at the moment, i didn't care much about anything, let alone my physical pain. For a moment, nothing happened, nothing seemed to move, and then he spoke.

"Rog..." It was only one word, not even my full name, yet it clicked something in me, and i looked up. Mark's face was almost unrecognizable, concern was written in every line, his eyes just brimming over with tears that that he would not allow himself to cry, he never did. But then again, i really shouldnt have been talking. He stared at me for a moment, eyes searching my face for any sign of recognition, caring, life. And against my will, my body decided to humor him. I collapsed forward, leaning my forehead against his shoulder as a single sob shook me from head to toe. I felt him let out a sigh, almost of relief, his own breath hitching near the end, and his other arm wrapped around me, fingers digging into my shoulder. And there we sat, all of us, dying, living, crying out in pain to the cold, uncaring lights of the city.