Until death did them

He loved her. So did she. What they did not know was, it was going to be halted. In such a rude, painful manner. Of all the talks they had about medicine, this they did not discuss. This they evaded. They knew it would happen, that both of them will die, but it was kept closed to be opened after a very long time. Not now. Now was the perfect time for love. 

It is one thing to read about accidents and another thing to be in it. It is one thing to be in it, and another thing to be the cause of it. It is one thing to be the cause of it and another thing to have killed that one person you loved so deeply. He did not cause a scratch on her even when making love, he did not even pinch her too hardly just out of affection, lest it would leave a scar. But what he did that day was to ram the car on the median and sat there watching what followed. Although it happened too quickly, it was slow. The car lifted and perched itself on the rails on the median, like it was taking a break. A nice, quite relaxation.  Inside, the rails had pierced through her jaw, and left glass pieces all over her body. Here she was, with a wet  cheek. He killed her. With his kiss. Here she was with a wet cheek. With a wet dress. A wet cheek and a wet dress. With her man's love's wetness and her own blood's wetness. Now she knew none. But he knew. He knew. He knew he killed her. He sat there, untouched by any of the scenes objects, except her hand clutching his.