I
The door opens with a scream, it's an old hinge
Worn down by age and too many goodbyes.
I stand, frozen, staring across the room.
You look the way you did—before.
Before you took the other half of me away.
You
"You never learned how to knock, did you?
Always barging in, like nothing could be wrong.
But you stand still now, glassy-eyed.
I sit where I’ve always been and will be.
I always knew you’d come find me here."
I
The air feels heavier. I want to speak
But my words tangle like thread, knotted tight.
Then your eyes flicker toward the mirror—
The one that caught your reflection
Through it, I found you slumped, broken.
You
"Do you still see me there?
Or just the mess I left,
The crimson that you could never scrub away.
I didn't mean for you to find me then, you know.
I didn’t want that, not for you."
(A distant gunshot; the sound cuts through the room. We both hear it - only I flinch.)
I
"Did you - do you regret it?"
A silence yawns between us.
And it's your weary smile,
Highlighting the bruises under your eyes,
That speaks louder than anything you could’ve said.
You
"Regret?
I suppose I didn’t think about you beforehand,
The way your eyes would lock onto what was left of me.
And how you’ve still never moved past it.
Our clocks both stopped just past that midnight."
I
I watch as your face changes, piece by piece.
Familiar lines blur, like a dream slipping away.
There’s blood, there’s so much blood,
And it’s just what I remember, what I saw -
Now I can no longer see the you of before.
You
"We’re both trapped here, aren’t we?
Caught in the barrel of a bullet
That that should never have been fired.
But, remember, we are both here by choice,
It’s just that mine was irreversible."
I
"Can we not just keep pretending?
I could stay with you, right here
And make my choice, just as you did.
Why, why do you look somber only now?
If you don’t feel remorse, who says I will?"
You
"You asked me of regret, before,
But what use is it to me here?
I cannot take back what I’ve done
And even if I wished to undo it,
It would be but a fool’s contrition."
I
I reach out, but you’re gone before I can grasp you.
All that’s left is my hands clutching the glass,
Trying to catch another glimpse of you
In this face that we once shared.
The hours, like blood, seep into the stained carpet.
| 
