He swears.
I never meant it,
He says.
I never meant,
To kill you.
And I try to speak.
To reassure him,
That it's okay.
I know,
That he never meant it.
That he just got so mad and angry, with the world.
That it's okay,
I knew that,
When I chose him as my best friend, my lover.
This would happen.
And as he cries,
As the blood bubbles and gurgles,
As the air hisses,
In my feeble attempt to speak,
Through my slashed throat, broken with the very blade we first clasped together.
I try to tell him, that it's okay.
That I am not dead yet.
I am not dead yet.
I am not dead as he drags me to the river, and masks my chakra, even as Kyuubi rages in the background.
As my head cracks and crashes through the undergrowth,
As a thorn snatches my eye, spearing through the gooey flesh.
But it's okay.
I knew this.
I knew that one day he would kill me.
But I loved him,
So I didn't care.
And even now, as he lowers me into the river,
A single wildflower roughly pressed into my hand by his, glowing with his distinctive chakra.
I still love him.
And if there's an afterlife, I always will.