Hemmingway, the next Poe?

Sometimes, I sit and wonder to myself why I feel the way that I do. Others ask the same question to me. The answer is questionable, but the questions remain unanswered. I sit in the darkest corner of my room; the walls seem to sweat with every thought that runs through my mind. I retrace my steps and replay the horrid memories of that night over and over again. Not once does the story change, or even affect me in any way. I fight with myself, should I believe it, or was it just a spectacle of my own imagination? The duality of my mind begins to take over, processing its own information inside my memory. Although I am unsure of what exactly happened that night, it went something to this nature.
It was a crisp winter’s night. The moon in Spain always seems just a bit brighter than anywhere else. I opened the window. The smell of alcohol flooded my nose. As I tucked my dear to sleep, I pondered, will we be forever in love? Her feelings seem to be fading by the day. Mine remain just as strong as they ever were. I would never let her leave. I gently kissed her forehead and proceeded to the door. She moved slightly, and the sound of the moving sheets ran through my head. It was the sound of leaves falling off a tree as the seasons change. I didn’t know what to think anymore. The sound became more and more irritating as it replayed in my mind. I did not want to see the leaves change colors, which was the sign of them to fall. I slowly proceeded up the creaking stairway to my bedroom. It was my own sanctuary. I reached into a drawer for my black masking tape. I ripped off seven large pieces and began taping them around the border of my only view to the outside. That single dreadful window. Next, I reached for the paint. It smelled of oil as I opened the cap. The color red, poured out of the container into my pan. I then began to stroke the color over my window. The sound of paint spreading eased my pain. No more would I see the leaves changing, no more would I catch a glimpse of that one leaf falling away from the tree. She would forever stay with me.
“No more falling, no more pain.” I repeated to myself.
“I can’t see them, but is it still happening?”
“No, it can’t be. Nothing will fall within this house.” The slightest of sounds caused a slight panic within my chest.
My mind followed every sound of the room, stalking each corner as if it were alive. That is when I lay my head down, and began to rest. My body lay still but my mind continued racing. No longer could I deal with this pain. In that one corner of my room laid a single leaf. Laying there it began to crumble. I heard it mumble “No more.” Right then I knew she would leave. This was the only way to prove my love. I went to her room, and reached my arms around her. She awoke in a panic not knowing what was occurring.
I repeated to her, “It will all be over soon, it shall be okay.”
“Why are you doing this?!” she cried.
“I love you, always. It will all be over soon.”
“Leaves will never fall, we will never crumble.”
“Leaves?! Crumble?! What are you talking about?!”
“Leave me alone!”
Her screams could be heard throughout the hallway. No one, except that crumbled leaf could hear her. I dragged her toward the bottom of the stairwell. There I fought with myself.
“Why, why am I doing this?”
“Will she leave?”
“Yes, of course she will. I need her.”
“Is this the only way? What else is there? Nothing.”
I continued to hit her until the floor matched my half painted window. There was still a pulse. Her heart, beating. The sound was not to be avoided. It continued to beat repeatedly.
“She will be mine”, I thought to myself.
“No matter what.”
I started breaking down the stairwell, making room for the beating of her heart. Inside is where she lay now, covered by the boards. She laid motionless, one in the same with the leaf. The noise is still heard. The crumbling, the beating. The noises very much alike. What belongs where? The question remains still.
I lay still, thinking to myself. The mirror catches a glimpse of light reflection from the window. Unpainted is one corner. The paint can was left emptied on the floor. With my shirt, I quietly walked to the bottom of the stairway. There I wiped the blood of my beloved. No more was the window left unpainted. The corner was now filled in. In the mirror is where I look now, often thinking of my life, as my eyes which were normal, now proceed to beat with the sound of her heart.
Sometimes, I sit and wonder to myself why I feel the way that I do. Maybe insanity takes over? Or maybe, in complete saneness, I shall continue my love for her through the beating of our now single heart.
I repeat to myself, “No more.”
“No more.”
“No more.”