The first time I saw Michael, he was walking through a winter forest at midnight.
Of course, so was I, but I still thought to myself, 'this guy's crazy.'

We've been dating for two years now.

Some people are going to leave, but that’s not the end of your story. That’s the end of their part in your story.”
—Faraaz Kazi

Despite circumstances, I can acknowledge my own mistakes when they present themselves in front of me.

"Just when they present themselves, though."

"Michael? did you just say something?"

As of now, I can acknowledge two things:
-I don't have friends.
-I might kill someone by the end of the year. (Granted that, I, myself, am someone.)

So- as you might have noticed, I have made quite a few mistakes in the past three years.

I look as Michael runs around the kitchen, reorganizing an already spotless and well-put room. He glares at me all the while but doesn't speak. He's waiting for me.

And I don't know what I'm waiting for. I did tell him I was considering going on a trip, but it's true that leaving so suddenly is...

"I can acknowledge my own mistakes, Michael. I'm sorry. I should have told you before I booked that flight ticket." Nothing. Better yet, he's paying attention to where his eyes lay now, as not to glare at me. He knows how much it unnerves me when he ignores me. Although, I don't have time to play along with him today.

I think it's fine for me to make mistakes from time to time. And I'm ready now. I have all my luggage, the ticket- and the fear of staying.
I walk up to him for a last kiss, but he avoids me. "Don't be a kid, Michael," I sigh.

He's quite cute when he sulks. I had brought a winter rose on my way here; I figured he might appreciate the gesture and the reference.

The first time I saw Michael, he was walking barefoot on the snow, and his lips were blue, but he still walked around like nothing was wrong.
He was as mesmerizing as a mirage, so at first, I thought I was crazy. But fascinated as I was, I didn't stop to think. I walked up to him, eager to see more of this ethereal vision. As I approached it, the vision stared back at me. Then I started to doubt. Then I started to panic.

I instructed the strange man not to move an inch through a fog of fear and confusion, and I'll be right back, don't move.

When I came back with the heaviest blanket in my room, he was sat a bed of winter rose, his hand holding his chin like it was a sunny Sunday evening, and he was bored of life. Then he saw me coming, and a spark lit in his eyes. For a minute there, I felt like a little dog running to give him a stick, and he was a master that found me a bit endearing.

Three years later, I realize how true that was. While Michael isn't some god from a greek legend like he looked that night on the bed of roses, he still isn't a human.
I have loved him, and I still do. Tremendously.

"Then why are you leaving?"
His question surprised me for a second, then it clicked.
"I thought we agreed on the mindreading?"

"You're heartless. You're looking at me all emotionless and cryptic, acting like leaving is something you imperatively have to do. And I- I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do? Nothing? Look at you as you give me half-answers that make no sense? Reading your mind was as close as I could get to try and understand you."

This. It gave me chills. It's the first time I felt so much emotion from him at once. He can be loving and passionate, but right now, he's desperate. His hands grabbed my arms, and his voice was rough and scorching. And his tears. His tears came tumbling down like rain. The storm in his features came to a progressive stop, morphing into confused sadness. He let me go and took a step backward.

"You're enjoying my pain?" It wasn't exactly a question. It fell from his lips like a gasp of surprise.

"What? No! Not at all. I- I'm enjoying your love. Michael, I truly am leaving. And if we can- If we can tell each other the truth- that we've been and are still lovers...if-"
"If you can leave with the reassurance that you took my heart with you as you left." he interrupted me and spat the words with venom.

"See. This is why we don't do mindreading in this house. It just causes misunderstandings."

I sat down, suddenly tired. I told myself I wouldn't play along with him today. These goodbyes were supposed to be short and straight to the point. I looked at the counter where I had left the winter rose. The flakes and ice ornating it wouldn't melt soon; I had put my magic on it.

Before I met Michael, I was human. He changed me in many ways, and I like to believe I did the same to him too.
"You know you did."

That's it—mental barrier. I watched him flinch when I put it up. Since I didn't tell him in advance, the expulsion from my mind shook his own. But he's strong, stronger than me. He can handle that much.

"Michael. I'm going now. Wouldn't want to miss my flight." He scoffed in response, perfectly aware that we can both stop time if we want to. But Neither of us did. Surprisingly, he knows that I won't change my mind. I guess he doesn't understand why I'm making such a decision. That's the difference between a transformed and a natural. I still feel immense fear when facing certain situations. While I can't fall physically ill anymore, I'm still susceptible to human mental illnesses, and if I don't run away now...
That's what he doesn't understand. I have to run if I want to survive.
And so I did.