Metanoia

It’s true-what they say about death. Your life flashing before your eyes. Not only your celebrated triumphs and fondest memories you’ll see, but your greatest downfalls and regrets as well. What did I see as I lay in the sweet summer grass, bleeding to death while battle carries on around me, you might ask? I saw him. Riding on horseback next to me as we talked of nothing on tranquil autumn afternoons. I heard his voice, asking if I could hear him, if I could ‘stay with him’ as his hands pressed on my bloody abdomen. I wasn’t listening to him though, rather I was listening to Arabesque No.1 by Rousseau just as it played in the ballrooms of his castle. I knew in that moment that I should’ve told him I loved him. I should’ve, but I never would. The world seemed to blur; the sounds of swords and armor clashing mixed with the classical melody. If I weren’t at the doorstep of death, I might say it was beautiful. Poetic even. It all came swarming back to me at once. His hands cupped my face, turning my head so that I was looking into his eyes. His face was covered with dirt and blood yet he was still the most handsome person I had ever seen. I could feel my grip loosening, but he was still talking. He begged me to stay, so I let go.