Well, good morning sunshine. You're up early. Would you like something to eat? Or drink? The kettle's just past boil now. White and none, if you're headed that way.



   What did you say your name was again? Ah, yes. So familiar, like I know you already... I knew a girl with your name once. Years ago, it was. I knew her, until I killed her, and until she killed me in return. It's quite a story.

   Years ago it was we knew each other. I saw her from afar when she arrived. She must've pitied me for what I am, or what I was. I asked her if she wanted to die, she answered without a thought.

   Years went by, and still we silently dug the knife into the other's smile. Twisting the blade, friends would say
         what a great couple,
         meant to be,
         so perfect for each other,
when really they meant
         Too Good To Be True.

   Night followed bitter and bloody night as we danced a fatal tango to a deadly beat. And still, we grappled each other like novice wrestlers unsure of the spectacle of the game. We grappled until my hand slipped, my knife plunged into her liver and she fell to my knees. I spent the better part of an eternity reviving her, but she brought the fatal barb into my heart and slew me also, an unwitting suicide pact.

   I hope I'm not boring you, but this is how things go. Life just happens like that. I killed the girl with your name for two years and it still surprises me that she killed me after I was finished. And still, life goes on. It doesn't stagnate when left like a mug of coffee, it doesn't grow cold and bitter to the taste after neglect. On your way, white and none. Make it strong.



   Many thanks. You see, I'm not quite who I was. But I was never who you thought I was in the first place. It is all a big farce, this life of ours. Interactions with others rarely portray what they conceal. That gives a man hope. Hope that one day, he can revive a girl he once knew he killed. But hope is longwinded and tiresome. Hope can be misleading.

   The girl with your name was good with hope. She used it like currency, dispensing it as she pleased for gain. I had hope to spare, though I'm broke now. I gave her my hope, she stayed alive for bits of time. She could've lived. Years ago, it was.

   She didn't live. She lives on now, of course, but only mentally. The girl with your name that I knew once is long dead, though she comes back to haunt me from time to time. Nothing will bring her back, no matter how much I wish she'd rise from her grave and kill once more.

   I'm sorry I took so long, but it's a story that I needed to tell. That girl died, another drove herself out of my girl's skin and lived on in her place. Every now and then she turns up in my life, bringing forward reminders of the girl I knew, the girl I killed, the girl with your name... I'm sorry I killed you, but you're dead now.

   Nothing can change that.