What's a love without tragedy? Marilyn Monroe. The goodbye.

Red lipstick?

Rose Petals?

It seemed as beautiful and perfect as Ms. Monroe herself.

Who would have guessed that we would have been as beautiful as her face?

As flawless as her skin?

As filled as her curves?

As glamorous as her clothes?

As red as her lipstick?

As toxic as her drugs?

Who would have been able to guess that we would have been as much of a tragedy as her life was?

That our flaws would have been as well hidden as hers?

That our pain would be as deep as hers?

The ending as much of our doing as her own?

Heartbreak? Ours is Marilyn Monroe.

Our demise was truly a tragedy.

One that would even fill Shakespeare's eyes with tears.

That such perfection, was doomed for such failure.

Everytime I think about it, I am blinded with an intense, hot and white pain that almost cripples me.

Who would have guessed that our love would have resembled all that was Marilyn Monroe?

Who knew the course of this one drive, injured us fatally?

Then again- what's a love without tragedy?