In the end none of it mattered anymore
It no longer mattered that they’d made each other bleed
That they’d torn each other apart
That they’d made each other feel when the world had made them numb
It didn’t matter that he’d tried to kill her time and again, and that she’d been no different
It didn’t matter that they’d used each other selfishly
Or that he would have violated her in the most despicable way had she not stopped him
The end is funny like that, the way it makes everything seem so moronically simple
The way that the pain of the past once burned, comes down to two hands, gripping tightly like innocent children, aflame, but somehow bearable, even just for a moment.
But this was not the first time that she’d stood before a man that she loved. who would die because of her, before her very eyes.
But Buffy was no longer the girl she’d once been, so full of anger and denial of her very being.
So despite everything they had done to each other, she stood again before the dying man, and with the conviction of a believer, she said “I love you.”
As though it were a benediction, a last rite.