The roaring gunshot is the last thing I hear this time, knowing that this will be the last time I’ll see your light brown eyes. No more false alarms or extra chances will be given to rewind. Whose chest has it struck? Yours or mine? I continue to ask myself this as I close my eyes once I realize that I’m painting on a canvas with shades as dark as red wine.
My hands are holding both of our lives as I drop the gun by my side, holding onto the seconds I have left. The world slowly slips out of my grasp. I can no longer hear you shout, can no longer see you cry and I am left to wonder if you’ll be fine.