You Shot Me

"What are you doing here?" I asked him. Quite logical question really. "You shot me."

"It was just a dash," he replied.

"You still shot me."

"I did."

Neither of us spoke another. I was there, and he was there, both standing across each other. I was still in my hospital gown but he was dressed quite fancy.

After a severe case of awkwardness...

"But you're alive. I'm grateful," he said. "You dodged the bullet quite well."

"Oh the bullet got through me."

"There is no bullet wound. What do you mean?"

I always find myself heartbroken for the least of reasons.
Hurt by a dash of a gun shot.
An invisible bullet, making its way through my heart.
That's what I thought.
Defying gravity, it was reaching for my mind.
Smart, smart bullet.
It's after my weak spot.
My thoughts.
I shouldn't be thinking of you.
But I am.
I have fallen in love with a murderer.

"It means you shot me. Your aim was truly remarkable."