Between Bruises & Blooms

She did not say
kill them.

She did not have to.

Her eyes found his
and something passed between them—

love,
permission,
grief,
the quiet understanding
that the dead
were no longer hers to save.

So he raised the gun.

And she let him.

That is the part
no one tells you about loss—

sometimes loving someone
means protecting the living
from what remains.

Sometimes goodbye
is not spoken.

Sometimes
it is a nod
before the shooting starts.