He wishes for one more moment.
He wishes he could hear her voice again. To hear her laugh. To hear her sing to herself when she thinks he isn't listening. He longed to hear her sing again. He didn't care what song it was, he just wanted to hear her voice. To hear her speak about her beliefs. The dream she had the night before. To simply ask him if he wanted milk in his coffee.
He wishes he could argue with her one more time to see her look of beautiful, sweet annoyance. He wishes he could say something to make her so angry she won't speak with him for the rest of the night, just because it means they will eventually make up. Just because it means he was still there. He wishes he could see her eyes flash in rage.
He wishes he could touch her face. Brush a few locks of dark hair out of her eyes. Help her rub the sweet smelling oil into her soft skin. Run a hand over her back, feel the graceful bones. The soft swell of her breast. God, how he wished he could simply touch her again. Feel her thin hand, with it's long fingers, brushing across his chest when she is almost asleep.
He wishes for one more chance to show her she is beautiful, though he knows he will never get it. She will never believe it now, no matter how he had tried to make her. He didn't see how she couldn't understand it. All he could see when he saw her was beauty, an angel, a fairy.
The way she made him feel. He felt... he felt nothing now. Nothing but the blood seeping out of him, along with his life. He died on the floor of corn exchange, wishing for things he would never get.
When she returns, all she wishes for is him