We are walking on a small path through a verdant garden. The flowers are fragrant and the area is heavily wooded. I am confused as to why we are together, but you skip ahead happily, speaking of our love and our future. I don't know how to tell you that I don't love you anymore. We reach the edge of the water, which is full of boats and lies beneath a high cliff, where some people are cliff diving. I finally admit to you that I don't love you anymore. You begin to scream that you will kill yourself, and I try to stop you, but you continue to pull away more and more violently. You run to the highest cliff, a cliff too high from which to jump, and you dive into the water. The water is as hard as brick it seems, and I hear the sound of bones breaking upon the brick. I jump from the dock into the water to try to reach you before you drown, and I can hear your sobs of pain. Doctors quickly reach you and you're taken to the hospital; you will be fine, but you have many broken bones. As I speak to the doctor, tears running down my face, he says I could have done more. I didn't have to tell you I didn't love you; I didn't have to stop loving you at all.