I had been stable for many years, caring for others, pouring out love without measure but never knowing how to ask for it - no medicine could heal this fractured soul, and yet like an innocent child I held out for love, teary eyes and shaking limbs, searching in the dark all over again, praying for the light.
'The spy has had a change of heart and offered loyalty to his target', huh?
People change, their situations change, and so do their hearts - isn't that called living? Instead, I would be surprised if I didn't change at all.
Things like living, aren't they great? Surely being laughed at by people is just fine.
Though death wasn't my choice this time, I had no alternatives, only feeling my body break just a little more with each passing second. It made me lose all senses, but in that respect, I felt lucky because I no longer felt any pain.
I just hope I had the chance to say goodbye.
