He could do little but to hold her against his chest as the light slowly faded from her eyes, life slipping away from her bloodied form.
Why did she have to die?
He should have been stronger, he lamented. He should have lied, he should have pushed her away the first time. He should have never involved her in such a world, so she would not have died.
But he was selfish.
He wouldn't let her go. He couldn't let her go. He needed her by his side. But now she was gone.
Because of him.
Because he was selfish. Because he had lied. Because he had involved her. Because he could not let her go. It wouldn't happen again.
Next time, he'd do better.
Next time, he laughs bitterly. As if he could love again, love anyone as much as he had loved her. As much as he still loves her.
He was hollow.
A piece of him gone with her. The part of his soul belonging to her, gone, never to return. Emptiness, gnawing at his heart.
Guilt, eating away at what remained of him.
The burden of the world, sitting on his shoulders. Like Atlas, he must bear the weight of his sins. He was a sinner.
But she had loved him.
And he had loved her in return. And where had that led them? He mourned his loss, spiteful. He missed her.
Without her, he was incomplete.
His body, his heart, his mind, his soul- all hers for the taking. Why had he given so much, even knowing that in the end, all he would do was take everything from her grasp again?
But she had won.
In the end, he had loved her. She too, had taken. Taken parts of his being to a place beyond his reach. Taken things freely given.
His crime was foolishness.
Everything he had done, he had not thought about. The follies of his love come back from far beyond the grave to haunt him. He should not have loved. He would never love again.
For it weighed heavily upon him.
Her last words, softly uttered through bloody lips curved into a gentle smile.
Ti amo.
