I walked into your room, careful not to make any sound. I could smell the musky scent of your body wash mixed with the light perfume of the fabric freshener. Your bathroom door was slightly ajar.
It was past two in the morning. The glow of the lamplights outside your window was creeping inside the room through the vertical slit between the heavy maroon curtains. The suitcase was already open and sitting on the study chair, but the contents were still inside, as if expecting another trip back. Pictures were strewn all over your study table; a glass, almost empty of vodka, stood sentinel to the tracks of moments you were reliving. Your clothes overflow from the hamper; your waste-basket, half-filled with crumpled unfinished letters. Under the unlit bedside lamp, was a necklace I easily recognized, and the missing empty bottle of liquor.
I saw you in bed. Asleep, unshaven, with dark circles around your eyes. Save for the red and white checkered boxers, you were naked. You had a pale and somewhat dry skin. The scars on your chest were still there....and the fresh wounds. You were in deep sleep having been spending long sleepless nights. Your breathing was shallow. The air was heavy.
I went to the left side of your bed and took out the knife I bought specifically for that night. I looked at you for the last time and tried to keep myself from shedding a tear. I held the knife over my head and lunged at the center of your chest. You opened your eyes at that instant and looked straight at me.
You understood.
I closed your eyes with my other hand and took the knife out. I leaned over and whispered, "See you later this morning."
I walked out as quietly as I entered and shut the door behind me. We'll get through this yet again.
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