You may call my insane, but I’m not. Sure I killed her. But there wasn’t anyway to stop it from happening anyway. She was already going to die. I just did it for her. Sure I plunged my dagger into her heart, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want her to die. She was suffering, and asked me to do it.
I feel the guilt everyday. Yet I’m not guilty at the same time. It was her will that I killed her. She didn’t want to be in this world anymore. She was sick of all the horrors that happened each day. I cried as I twisted the dagger in her heart, causing blood to run even thicker.
As her life drained away, I felt part of me die because of what I had done.
As she fell to floor, last of her life draining, she smiled and said “thank you”. I buried her where she had asked. On the mountain top, over looking the forest she loved so much, and to be near the sky she always wanted to touch. Under her favorite cherry blossom tree, where the birds always sang.
I’m not insane.
But I did kill the woman I loved.