There was no bright light in my death, but perhaps that is because I wasn’t destined for the angelic beauty of heaven. No, my short lived life had been played out with so much sin and excess that there would no doubt be a special cage in hell with my name on it. In my death, I felt and saw nothing. No warmth, no cold, no light, no darkness, just nothing. When I woke, he was gone, the only piece of perfection in my ugly world. Part of me was grateful that he had finally found the good sense to leave. Another part of me was broken, irrevocably and agonizingly broken.