I stand still. Back straight, eyes staring back at you. You pace slowly back and forth, playing with a knife in your hand. You drag it slowly over my chest and trace the outside of a previous scar above my heart. You stop in front of me and smile. A cruel smile. You take my hand in yours and your eyes begin to sparkle. I begin to think of all the reasons why I have stayed. Why I am here with you. But then I see your other hand clench tightly to the knife and I wish I could walk away, before it’s too late. But I made a promise. To you and myself. A promise that I would never walk away. But then the knife flies forward and plunges through my heart and an all too familiar pain is felt. I let out a soft barely audible grunt and my eye twitches. The only sign of pain I show. But she notices it. She calculates and observes everything. A small trickle of blood seeps from the wound. It’s all that’s left inside. She picks up another knife and says “I’m sorry”. I know its only half true. She is only sorry it hurts, not however for what she has done. I pull out the knife from my chest to reveal a tender but hollow heart. I choke back tears as I watch the one I care most about to prepare herself to strike again. She plunges her second knife, a larger, longer one, into the reopened wound. It digs deeper and a yelp is heard from deep within. I fall to my knees and a tear rolls down my face. My head slowly droops, but she catches it gently in her hand. She kisses my lips and the wounds begin to rapidly heal and mend themselves, the tears begin to dry. But a sinking feeling still holds inside me because I see the knives that are still waiting to find there place. So again I prepare myself as I taste the sweetness of her kiss.