The Life Is Fading From You
My hands are holding you together, trying to stop the blood from spilling. You are looking at me, and I know that you know there is nothing I can do, but I will not give up.
Bloody foam bubbles out of your mouth and my worst fears are confirmed, the bullet caught your lung.
You are drowning, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
We're stuck, alone, out of reach. No one will get here in time to save you. Your radio is dead, there's no way to call for help. Help that will not come.
It is my fault, mi amor, I should have been quicker. I should have taken care of you. You have always trusted me to have your back, to be there when you are a reckless endangerment to your own life. Not for the first time, I wish you had higher levels of self-preservation.
If you did, I wouldn't be trying to hold your life inside you.
I can see your pain, if the clench of your jaw, and the way your pupils are blown wide, eyes unfocussed. You aren't looking at me, but I wish you would, so you could see that I'm telling you I'm sorry, that I love you and that this is all my fault.
Your hands come up to cover mine, desperately trying to claw at the wound, I know it is a last attempt, you're scared, and you're fighting it. You always fight.
My eyes sting with unshed tears, I do not want to lose you. I can't lose you. For the longest time, my life has revolved around keeping you safe and out of trouble, watching your back, and being the silent balance to your constant rambling.
You are silent now. What I wouldn't give to hear you talking, saying everything and nothing. I will never hear your voice after this. I will never forgive myself for that.
Your hands still, dropping away to the ground beside you. I know your life has slipped through my fingers; but still I kneel there, in your blood, my hands on your chest, wishing life back into you. If there is a Dios out there, I hope they hear me and bring you back to me.
But no one answers my prayer. Everything is quiet now. You are not talking. You are not breathing. Your heart is not beating.
There is an emptiness inside me it feels as though my own heart has stopped. But I'm still alive. I wish I wasn't. I would follow you if I could.
I cannot. There is no way to follow you now. Maybe I will meet up with you again one day.
My hands are still on your chest, still covered in your blood. You still aren't breathing. I lean down and kiss your forehead, covered in sweat, dirt and blood and already cold against my lips.
There is nothing I can do, you are gone, and I have to keep moving. The way my hands linger against your chest is a promise that I'll do everything I can to come back for you.
I shoulder my rifle and pick up the gun you dropped. I can't look back as I leave. My hands are still covered in your blood, and while it'll wash off, I know it'll always be there.