Today, I found my peace.

Thirteen years of a rough life full of insomniac nights, endless tears, and psychotic thoughts pertaining to suicide were rewarded. Each life I changed for the better and spoke into being a moral person was rewarded, and those were a lot of lives I had changed. Every deed, and very wrongful action, had sewn a path up to this glorious trophy I have. Many others would have mocked what I had, but the other cheek was ready to turn. I didn't care what others thought of the outcome of my strife - Oh, that isn't as bad as what I went through; Is that really all you got out of those situations? You could have had so much better - because I absolutely adored it. To acquire this ending, I would have gone through my life again, exactly the same way. I would have edited every beating, every rape, every thievery, every heartbreak, and every dead loved one. Selfish, truly, but I would have gone through it again. And again. However many times I needed to, and receive this ending every time.

My adventure in life was over. Now, I was retired from all the excitement and living in a three-bedroom, two-bath house. The entire thing looked to be built from polished wood, and the roof was as dark and brooding as the midnight sky. On a gloomy day, the bombers won't even know we were here! I'd joked to my girlfriend whenever we'd seen the house while prowling for a living space. The door was a flawless shade of gray, and the doorbell was a crow head, beak flung open and the button sitting in the back of is throat. The windows were dull and strewn with white curtains ripe to be worn by creepy, female ghosts. Many would have regarded my home, part of my prize, as boring or creepy, but I adored it. Nothing says "perfection" like a screaming carnivore bird head sitting next to your front door's knob.

It was a chilly midwinter morning that I decided to throw on a black coat and snag a Dean Koontz book from one room in our house, which we used as a library. When I was smaller, I used to walk year-round around my house, taking turns between reading and describing the tranquility of nature circling me. My favorite time to read outside was a winter afternoon, and I wasn't sure why. Either that, or Autumn evenings. Coat heavy and frequently moving limbs cocooned in coldness, I would trace a vast circle around my home. My home wasn't there anymore, sadly. The landowners had destroyed it and encased gravel over the remaining land. It had been such a long time since going for reading walks, and they always felt wonderful to go on.

The sky was a quiet, blowzy shade. The clouds were blushing a rosy pink, and the sun was still hovering under the horizon. I failed to check the clock, but my guess is that it was about five o'clock in the morning. This kind of aerial environment was engraved in my mind from the school days that I had woken up on and college days that had already passed. Now that I wasn't forced to wake up that early, it was a peaceful time. The sunrise was simply more than amazing.

I began to saunter around my home, bookmark between my teeth and book in my hands. Past the cement porch, past the beautiful gardens my lover and I had painted with lovely vegetation, past my old-style car. There was a bit more land to cover than the last time I had walked outside and read, but it was just as much worth the while. Past the garage, past the thick outline of trees and wilderness by our property, past the guest driveway and eery crow head. There was never a place more perfect or beautiful, despite its bland reviews. Past the window of mine and my girlfriend's bedroom, past an empty dog house the previous owners had left and I didn't have the heart to remove, past the cement porch again.

I arrived at the window again after nearly ten other laps, nearly five pages read per walk. I finger-marked the pages and nosily peered into the dull window. A tiny bookshelf full of works, all my published works, stood beside the silvery wooden door. A computer, monitor button blinking a fiery orange color, stood in a corner. So directly in front of the window that it was hidden was the bed. I stepped a bit forward and peered over the pane of the window to see my girlfriend still asleep. Her face was turned to the side, and she'd unconsciously moved to the middle of the bed due to my absent body. Her slumbering form was perfect beyond words, and if something was beyond words to a bestselling author, it had to be brilliant. How exactly could so much beauty be placed into such a small body? Any body at all? How could I receive an angel like her after all of the terrible things I had done? She was my favorite part of my awarding, although I had had her from the imperfect beginning.

I had kept the window unlocked, so I opened it from the outside. I limply stretched forward and traced my pointer finger along her dirty blonde hair, grinning as I did so. Then I peeled back and shut the window. She slept late into the day and normally stayed up until early hours, so it would be a while before she was awake.

I fingered a silky box in my pocket. Inside was a ring bricked by a single, mirroring diamond on a golden circle. Engraved in cursive along its side were our names. A twin ring was in my jeans' pocket. I had created the rings myself. And when you do wake up...

Nothing else could be so perfect.

***

A\N: Unrealistic, perhaps. But a dream is a dream, not an expectation. Well, for as sure as well, I expect to be published. That's what I live for... Writing. My... eh... Lady friend here... Well, let's just say I am an idiotic bitch. Trying to cut my friendships, bonds like a feral switch. And it's to keep her happy. Anything I do will be to keep her happy. I think love is measured by the amount of things you'll do for for someone. And I love her enough to go to Hell with her and back times over. We have been through Hell and back times over. I'll go to Hell by myself for her, too. It's just... Simply unrealistic for the proposing part. I'd never propose, despite how deep my affections run. Unless I know inside and out that it's what she wants. So how exactly can you show someone you love them when you can't share the Hell you've gone through? I do love her, and she had doubts. But trust me, I will go through Hell. I will go through worse. I will torture me. And all because of this terrible, painful, WONDERFUL love I have.