Until we meet again

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I did it. I finally did it. It wasn't so bad. I thought I would never be able to approach the person who I truly love. But I said everything. I confessed. My fear was all a lie. And what I'm feeling afterwards isn't so bad. It really hurt at first, but the pain gradually subsided. I'm fulfilled. Soon I was able to understand that it's for the best. After all, how can love bear fruit in a month? I'm content. I'm satisfied. I mean, wouldn't it be tragic if love bloomed only to suddenly wilt? Would it be worth to be together and not have a happy ending? 

"We'll begin the procedure... I want you to count from one to ten... so you won't feel the pain..." But I have nothing to regret. It's finished. I can go now.

I started to count. "One." The light's so bright. "Two." And I'm a bit cold. "Three." It's fine either way; I don't regret anything. "Four." I just wanted to tell you how I truly feel. "Five." I just wanted to confess my love for you and tell you that I really love you. "Six." But I don't have much time left. "S-seven." I hesitated at first, because I was afraid that I'd be turned down. "Eigh--." But you did turn me down. "... nine." And I think it's for the best, because, after all, if we were together, ".. ten..." How can we be happy knowing that I'll be gone?


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