My light is dying. Trembling hands push hair from my face and I hate you for it. My light is dying, because every time you touch me you take a piece of me. Someday soon there will be nothing left. I will be a pretty, empty girl, a shell, an abandoned building. And in time I will crumble, then even you won't want me. My light is dying. If I tried, I could stop it, but I don't want to.