Last Saturday was the best day of my life, indisputably. The afternoon was in a thick storm of confetti. The empty air was a chorus of bells, organs and crowds cheering and hollering in excitement. Our visions were half-blinded by the flashing of cameras around us. But most of all, I remembered your smile and the sweet kiss upon my lips; a symbol that of newlyweds.

But, as fate would have it, not all good things come to pass. Only a few days later, I remembered rushing you to the hospital. I remembered the room number being 235, inscribed on the wooden door. I remember those final words you said to me before you left me forever, from your bed as I held your hand tightly in my own. I remembered those final words you requested to me, imprinted, haunting my head.

“Please sing me one more song.”

And I did.

Today is February 14th. Last Saturday felt so long ago, as if it was from a different time. For here I sit, with only absence accompanying me, in this dim room. Once, I swore to the Lord above that I would love you until the rivers would run dry. Now, I only wish those same currents would pull me under to drown me as it catches my weight. How I wish we had never met, how I am sorry you were ever born if life were to fall so short.

It took a lot of mental power, breaking away from this flurry of thoughts, but I went out on a stroll from the countryside to the town at night, spending the little money that I had left.

It was until after a quick trip to the pharmacy for medication that I returned back to our home, which I had not stepped foot in after a few evenings of gambling to cope with my loss of you. I expected to be embraced in your loving arms, dear wife, surrounded by our family that shall now never be. I slowly opened the door to our dim living room, only to be greeted by the deafening silence of nothingness. With a heavy sigh, I took a seat over by the fireplace, a gray bottle of morphine in my hands. At this point, I paused and looked the bottle over. I slowly started to twist the cap off, setting it aside. I gazed at the petite, white tablets inside before spilling them over into my palm, inspecting each of them before picking a lone one in my other.

One, two, three pills traveled down my throat, with the rest of the bottle to follow for good measure. I watched as the flames only became brighter, and its warmth slowly started to die; fade into coldness. My hollow breathing started to slow the more pills were swallowed. My now tired eyes struggled to stay open as I slowly took a seat by the fire place, my life slowly fading away. I looked around the house – our house – one last time before I started to fall asleep.

Goodnight, Irene. I’ll see you in my dreams.

Written by FlakyPorcupine
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