In the end,
you've only managed to pull the trigger first.
And yet,
knowing full well the consequences,
I struck on,
hoping that someday my love would fall true.

It was my mistake.

How was I to know
— a man bereft of possessions and purpose —
that you
— glorious, important, so very very tired —
required more than:
                    a single glance,
                              a sidelong smile,
                                        a tender touch,
                                                  a silent moment...

These things no longer exist,
or, at least,
if they do,
I have no idea how to find them with you.