Your voice fades with each passing second, drowned by the roaring of the ocean. Strands of my hair stick to my face, my disheveled locks in a futile battle against the wind. By that point, a full moon was staring back at me, silently witnessing how I condemned myself to a life of endless regret and heartache. The beams of moonlight illuminated a path toward you.
How I wish you could see how beautiful the moon was shining for you, my dearest. But I had to shut my eyes—I couldn’t bear to watch your beautiful, pale face stained with crimson red. You didn’t deserve to witness me like this, but you chose to anyway. If I could ask you one last time, my love, I would ask: Do you regret spending your final breaths looking into my eyes, the same eyes that reflected the fear which haunted our time together?
The ocean roars, and the sky responds with loud, thunderous strikes that crash violently on the surface. I sit by the shore, my knees drawn to my chest as I kneel, hiding my face from the thick drops of rain that feel like punishment for hurting you, my love. The sky cries because I took you away from my side.
I turn around, pushing the hair from my face so I can see you. How could it be that your once-vibrant red cheeks have faded? I crawl toward you, moving the strands of your hair away, leaving a trail of blood on my hands. Your face looks at me with so much peace.
I can no longer tell my tears from the raindrops. My gaze shifts to your torso, where a deep red stain blemish your beautiful body. I lift your shirt, gently caressing the wound. My teardrops fall, mingling with the blood, creating ripples that fade as the water washes the red away, revealing your skin beneath.
I glance back at the ocean and, for a moment, lose my breath. Did my hands do this? For a fleeting instant, I felt your hate. Then, an image of your teary eyes watching me came to mind, and I recovered my senses. I think to myself: how many times must I do this?
After 300 times of staining my hands with your blood, I’ve realized the answer is: never.
The sky unleashes a scandalous thunderclap, illuminating the ocean in shades of purple. I touch your face, the impulse to hold it overpowering. I kiss your temple and wish you could feel my heart in that moment. Maybe then you’d believe in us—as something that could have been everything, but wasn’t meant to be.
In all the timelines, you refuse to accept your destiny, clinging to a love that was never meant to last. Every time, your insistence on loving me brings us to the same place: where I sit alone, next to the breathless body of the one I love—you.
The waves crash against the rocks, inching closer to where I sit beside you. But they wouldn’t touch you with their wrath—they’re not angry at you. And neither am I.
Each time you accept your fate of loving me, you force me to kill myself, which inevitably leads to killing you. In every timeline where you see me as your love and not a stranger, you continue to pull me into your tragedy my love.