The sun rose like it does on any other day, on the day you shot me in the back of the head.
I'd just made coffee and you'd come back from doing the groceries and I asked if you wanted some without turning my head to look at you, on the day you shot me in the back of the head.
And I hit the floor so slowly and so hard and without any real warning, on the day you shot me in the back of the head.
I knew we'd had our differences and our silences but I didn't expect it to end like this, on the day you shot me in the back of the head.
I thought there'd be more time, on the day you shot me in the back of the head.
If I was still alive at that point, I imagine I'd smell cordite and sulphur filling the room and hear the echoes bouncing off the walls, on the day you shot me in the back of the head.
I imagine there was a look of surprise on my face, on the day you shot me in the back of the head.
I wonder if you thought you were being merciful by waiting until I wasn't looking, on the day you shot me in the back of the head.
I probably stared off at a distant point, while you gathered your things together and left, on the day you shot me in the back of the head.
And I know that my body was there for a while and that the room was dark and that it was very quiet, because of what you'd done, on the day you shot me in the back of the head.
But what you might not know, is that I got up.
And washed my face.
And the sun rose again.
On the day after you shot me in the back of the head.
