It's always been a thought in the back of my head, daunting, tempting, calling me closer. I'm not sure if it's death I seek, or if curiosity it getting the better of me. But now... now I'm alone, moving from home to home, from family to family. Truly I'm just...
Tired.
That's why I have the gun. That's why I grip it so tightly. That's why my heart feels like a drum, throwing punch after punch to my chest. I can't tell I'm crying until my throat hurts and I release a quiet, mourning, sob-- mourning for the life I used to love.
Should I count? That seems to be the best way to do it. Although, I've never been one to get it done when it counts, quite literally now. Will I even pull the trigger when I get to 10?
Should I count?
I second... for the life I used to live.
2 seconds... for the time I used to smile.
3 seconds... for the woman I never met.
4 seconds... for the father who never protected.
5 seconds... for the girl I once was.
6 seconds... for an unknown future.
7 seconds... for hope.
8 seconds... for regret.
9 seconds... for hate.
10 seconds... for never finding love.
My throat still throbs, my heart still pounds.
We cannot give what we have not received, I hear, But I love you anyway...
The gun never fired, but my heart stopped beating. It jumped when I heard the metal clacking to the ground, unused and still cold.
So Love Me.
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