One-Hundred Days

You burned a triangle into the field and asked us to stand at each end. You said it was a real life interpretation of a love triangle. You laughed as we stood awkwardly, keeping our gazes away from each other. You used our shared pasts against us and thought nothing else of it. You were always heartless in that aspect.

You burned a triangle into everything after that, just wanting to see that awkward look of hopeless desperation on our faces when pushed together, falling face first into our shared past lives we wanted to walk away from and had been trying to for five years.
Yet you always loved pitting us against each other, like we had before.

You said we were a perfect example of the love triangle, three pushed together without knowing of it. We had never even known we were three separate people until you pulled us apart and placed us in front three mirrors that reflected the jagged edges that once connected us to each other.

We bled out beside each other as you smiled, fascinated by our complicated past lives, ones that formed the triangle you seemed to love so much. You let us bleed out, laid together in the edges of the triangle burnt into the innocent grass. We stained the field as you smiled.
When the police came, you fled your perfect triangle.

We laid there for years, waiting for you to come back, but you had already left, searching for even more perfect love triangles to tear apart.