Suicide is not always tying a noose, downing the pills, or slitting your wrist.

Suicide is not always pulling the trigger, taking the leap, or drinking until you can’t think anymore.

Sometimes suicide is loving them, even if it’s killing you.

Sometimes suicide is working those extra hours every week, even if you’re too tired to move night after night.

Sometimes suicide is fast, snuffing a light in an instant.

But sometimes, most times, suicide is slow, lingering behind every touch, smile, or joke. It is buried under the pile of paperwork, books, and unfinished letters. It is a darkness that grows worse each and every day.

But most of the time...suicide is giving so much of yourself to others, piece after piece, to rebuild them, that eventually...there’s nothing left of yourself.

And that is the most painful suicide known to man, watching as others grow, but seeing yourself shrink into nothingness.

It seems the more I experience

The less it all gets to me

Whether it’s my confusion

Or just symptoms of apathy

The more I know

The more it betters me

But the better I get

The more it tethers me

To a perception of self

I havent yet gained

And it threatens me

Just in the sense

Of what it did

To the rest of me

The life drained

The child gone

And I’m yet to be

Fully emerged

In the person

I was on a quest to be...

But the further I go

The less I question me

The less I get out of bed

Knowing this is what I was meant to be

The less respect for myself

And self empathy

Because I’m the causation

Of this empty me

And that’s evident...

Knowing I’m the one who did this

In pursuit of the eminent

Only hurts more

When I come to realize

That when I look in the mirror

Those aren’t my real eyes

And when I look in the past

I dream to feel mine

And if I looked at me back then

I’m sure I’d take that as a bad sign

As a life gone wrong

In the same sense

A life gone perfectly right

So perfect

I couldn’t even see my own light

Because it was so flawed

I killed it

With sharp claws

And filled it

With a heart drawn

Away from who I really am

Or who I really was

Or who’d I really like to be again

I would love to just die

And wake up as me again

But that’s just speculation

Just speculation

Maybe this pain isn’t that

And I can still find restoration

But that seems unlikely

Because even if I did

I’d still be so unlike me

Because this phase

Was not a phase at all

It was a transformation

And I must face the fall

But I’m still so scared

To face the call

Where I’m told That I died

And I’m not fazed at all

Because at that point

I was dead

Before I was raised at all

And at this point I feel I’m there

Immune to the feelings

Of direction and care

And maybe this whole thing

Has been my eulogy

And when I put down this pen

They’ll be no use in me

And by the time that you’ve read this

At this rate

I’m probably on the dead list

And if that’s fate

At least I fucking said this

It might’ve been late

But if I die now

And still appear alive

At least I have no fear

And my quest survives

"Do you realize what this means?" I exclaimed, barely able to contain my enthusiasm.

Harry looked at me with wide, enquiring eyes, and frowned.

"Our jobs just got a whole lot easier," I continued, staring at the little treasure resting on the palm of my hand.

He kept his eyes on me, an incredulous look on his face, "Love, it's just a watch..."

"You don't believe me."

Now it was my turn to frown. I extended my arm and offered him the pocket watch, "Go ahead. Try it."

He didn't move.

"Take the watch!" I repeated, a bit more intensely this time.

He must have seen the glimmer in my eyes because he hesitantly cupped the thing and started examining it.

"Listen, I'm gonna punch you now-"

"What the hell, Anton?"

"I'm gonna punch you now and, as soon you see me moving, you pull the crown," I explained. "You'll be fine."

"Anton, I don't-"

I didn't let him finish. Harry was a lot of things, but a man of actions he was not. He would rather talk and analyze and examine every little thing before actually acting, and, dear god, sometimes it was unbearable.

I thrust my fist towards his nose, sure enough that I’d miss. I didn’t hold back. Sweet baby Jesus, I didn’t hold back... I didn’t even realize I hit him until he rocketed backwards, leaving a trail of blood spatter behind.

“Oh my god, babe!”

He fell with force on the wooden desk and tumbled down, tipping it over alongside him. I rushed to his side, and placed my arm on his back. Blood was dripping down his nose and the Hawaiian shirt I’d bought on our honeymoon was painted red. Despite the absurdity of the situation, I didn’t feel like laughing. I was mostly shocked. I had never laid a hand on him before -what was I even thinking?

Idiot.

“Here, let me get you something.”

I got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a freshly washed towel at hand. I, then, proceeded to the kitchen for some ice.

“You punched me…” I heard his muffled voice and peaked through the door.

“I told you I’d punch you, babe.”

“Don’t you ‘babe’ me. You punched me!”

“I’m sorry… I thought you’d stop me.”

“How? How was I supposed to stop you?”

“With the watch, silly. I told you to pull the crown.”

“Well, I didn’t,” he pouted.

“Yes, I can see…”

“Are you going to hand me the ice-pack or what?”

I pecked his forehead. “You’re lucky it didn’t break.”

“You're lucky it didn’t break,” he retorted, “’cause there would have been hell to pay.”

“I promise to make it up to you in the bedroom,” I slyly grinned and he cracked a smile.

Phew… Situation diffused.

“Hey, where’s the pocket watch?” I suddenly remembered the reason my partner was on the floor bleeding.

“The watch that magically stops time, you mean?” he mocked me.

I scanned the room and saw it under the armchair, its screen slightly cracked.

“Oh damn, I hope it still works.”

“If you punch me again-” he squinted, his emerald eyes spitting fire.

God, I loved those eyes, little specks of olive amid a grass field. I loved how his nose wrinkled when he was upset. I loved the creases on his forehead when he was in deep thought. I loved how his mouth would slightly curve after a job well done. I resisted the urge to undress him there and then. We would have plenty of time for that later.

“No, let’s try something else this time, okay? Are you good? Can you stand up?”

He nodded and I heaved him to his feet. I brought a glass of water from the kitchen and gave him the same instructions as before. I let the glass go and it smashed on the floor, breaking into dozens of pieces.

“Great, and now the glass broke,” he cocked an eyebrow.

“...you were supposed to pull the crown.”

“Listen, I just got punched on the nose and I’m in terrible pain. I can barely see straight.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours?”

“Okay, yeah, I punched you, but why won’t you do as I say?”

“Because it’s stupid!” he boomed. “What’s gotten into you? Blabbing about some time stopping watch-”

“Just give it a chance. I’m not crazy. I didn’t make this up.”

“Oh, are you going to break another glass now?”

“Just pull the bloody cro--”

“--wn!”

“Whoa!”

His mouth was a perfectly shaped ‘O’ only surpassed in roundness by his eyes. He looked at me speechless.

“You pulled the crown while I was talk--”

“--ing, didn’t you?” I sneered.

“Oh my god!”

“See? I told you I didn’t ma--”

“--ke this up.”

“Whoa! It actually stops time!”

“Do you under--”

“--stand now?”

“Every time I pull the crown, it stops time…” he repeated in a daze.

“Wait, how many ti--”

“--mes have you do--”

“--ne this?”

He suddenly burst out laughing, his contagious giggle impossible for me to resist. I followed suit and we found ourselves on the floor cracking up, hugging, kissing like mad men.

After we both settled down and wiped our tears off, we looked at each other, glint in our eyes. No more racing time, no more failures, no more running from the cops. Just a simple pulling of the crown and we would be able to get into any building, any bank and take everything we wanted without anyone even realizing there was a heist in place.

The world was ours. Riches awaited...