My Last Breath

The paper burned from white to brown. The smeared ink written in a tight, left-handed scribble became intermingled with the ashes and the wood in the fire place. But even as the orange of the fire burned itself out, leaving only ashes and embers, the pictures and the words of your letter were still imprinted in my memory and fresh in my mind.1

"My love, forget me not as i carve your name into my heart and drown in my own blood. It is not that I do not love you. It is that you care for me no longer. There is no moving on, only slowly dying. It shall feel more pleasant than to see you with another man. Even as your hair turns grey, I hope you think of me still. I shall think of you in my dying breath. Do not think that I am putting guilt upon you. I wish that not. I just wanted you to know why I leave you. Good night, and good life. Forever to you my heart belongs, I pray you take it when I am dead. Samuel Matthew."2

Tears stained my cheeks.3

I had called as soon as your letter was read. But no answer was returned. I arrived to your house and found it empty of your presence.4

The embers faded into the black of night.5

Your letter I had memorized, I had read it until I could read it no longer. I burned it as well as every picture I had but one. That one I hid from myself. That one picture haunted my very existence. I could not be with any other man. Every room, every piece of furniture, jewelry, and every other item in my house reminded me of you even in pitch dark.6

And that is when I decided what I would do.7

In the brightest hour of my darkest night, I lit the stoves with gasoline. Spilling the liquid on the linoleum floor. I then dry-mopped the floor, spreading gasoline throughout my kitchen. I dropped a match, lighting the floor ablaze.8

I locked the front door behind me as I left my own home.9

The flames rose, popped, crackled. And I watched my house burn in the middle of the night.10

But then I had another thought.11

Acting upon my impulse, I ran back into the house, jumping into the flames. I felt my flesh being scorched, burned, engulfed, and turning to ashes.12

But you were correct, my dear. Dying is much sweeter than living in sorrow. I loved you always. And IT thought of you in my dying breath.