I confessed to you...

And then I kissed you on your right cheek. Surprised, you faced me with questioning eyes. I smiled – the one that I thought was awkward but you said it was lovely anyway. Your expression changed– a mix of anguish and guilt – as you saw my eyes fill with tears. "You can’t do anything about it anymore," I whispered as I caressed your face. I have already stabbed you seven times – your lucky number you said. I even found out that your blood in my hands feels warmer than you can ever be – than you will ever be. As your eyes went blank and your hand felt limp, I learned to be free.