On that cold marble floor, with a dagger in his side, Luke thought of her.
He always did.
After they battled each other on that cliff, he was sure she would almost never think of him again.
Little did he know, he was all that crossed her mind every night when she went to bed, and every morning waking up.
But how could he know that? She wasn't there to say it. She was trapped under a 300 pound Hera. He didn't know that either.
But now, with blood trickling onto the floor, Luke had nothing left to hold on to. And everything he had just died for, was nothing compared to what he wished he could live for.
He wished he could live for her. The her that he couldn't get out of his head, out of his past.
She was every piece that he was missing.
And every piece he would never get back.
And there, with his past and his fate intertwining before his eyes, he remembered his promise. His promise to the little girl, to her, to himself. The promise he broke without even stopping to think twice. The promise he wished he could've kept.
He had found somebody to die for. But she wouldn't even care. She wasn't even there. His somebody to die for, his her, was gone. And he would never live to hear, that he was her him, her mistake, her death, her reason to live, and her only somebody to die for.