Murder I think you're beautiful. That's all I wanted to say. One big roadtrip, with conversations and opportunities , and I never said it. Why? I saw her crying, I saw her sad, it would've been the perfect time. So why? Afraid she wouldn't believe me? Afraid of her opinion on me? Afraid of her response? I'd hold her hand and tell her, or hug her and whisper it in her ear, or just mouth it to her from the other seat, or serenade her with a song with those lyrics in it. I had endless possibilities, yet the words were said. She probably needed to hear those words more than ever, just not from me. And that why. I don't make anyone better. I never will and I never have. Everyone is better off without me. But I don't mind. Being alone isn't so bad, sometimes. Yet I'm never alone, I'm poison in the people who dare to drink my time. And some people just won't stop drinking. Like her. My friend, my beautiful friend, who I will kill eventually.