What’s this?

You take the bullet and I’ll take the bruises that won’t heal because one of those lasts forever and it’s not the bullet.

The bruises will take their time and toll on you. They’ll wear you down. They’ll make you wish you chose the bullet. So I’ll take the bruises for you, the ones that don’t heal. The bruises that cause grief, the kind of grief that drags its nails across your chest, a maddening sadness that can’t be explained, a weight that can’t be shared.

This is what the bullet ends. The bruises stretch it out until you’re begging for silence and you don’t get to pick again so let me choose.

I choose the bruises.

I’ll let them etch into me forever. I’ll carry the ache and the grief while you rest. I’ll explore every corner of every grappling emotion. I’ll hang there if you take the bullet.

So Let me have them. 

Forget my name.

Everything will be just as it’s meant to be.