would be flown before my eyes until I gave my last breath and my soul left the body. Surprisingly, the only one that popped up in my memory was a shining Laura’s image in a snow-white dress, which I had bought on her 21st birthday during our trip to Greece.
More than ever, I felt the warmth of her soft hands that loved to stroke my broad shoulders. I wish I could at least once look at her sincere smile, but I knew I was not worthy already. I laid on a wet asphalt pavement in a back alley, where I used to deliver drugs and negotiate with dealers from time to time, as a piece of meat, helpless and pitiful, not having enough strength to make a moaning sound while bleeding slowly. At that last minute of my life, I would like not to be disturbed by that in what tightening dirt I ended up after these ten years, but within feelings of tender love, grief and disgust mixed. Taste of bitter appeared in my throat when I was aware of my insignificant choice once I made. I felt disgust and self-pity, and tears flowed down on my thin, lifeless cheeks. I wanted to return the day when I rejected Laura, who was real and bright as the first day of May, my ray of light, my hope, the apple of my eye. I harbored unbearable self-hatred knowing how foolish I was to let it go. That day I turned in an opposite direction, not understanding that I chose my life and its ending I have right now. Every step leads to its’ finish. I made mine. Only now, holding the wound, I understood she was more than beloved; she was the one and last right choice.
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