They say that you have seven minutes. Seven minutes to relive the past, revise your words and regret things that you've done. Seven minutes to recall the scent of your childhood home, look at the letters you carved on the hardwood floor. Seven minutes to cry again about events long gone, to weep once more about things you wished you could've done.

Seven minutes, they say... Yet to me, it seems much shorter.

The first minute goes by quickly and without pain. We giggle and laugh and play, things are going ok. You say you have to go back home and I smile and say we can roam in the forest tomorrow.

The second minute is a little harder, we've both grown up and you're talking about going to a golf club. I clench my teeth and turn to you, ask you why you can't stay with me. I ask you why you have to leave. You shrug and say it's only for the summer and I let it pass because you promised you'd come visit later.

The third minute replays something I wish I could forget. You were happy one day and the next, dead. I cry next to your grave, asking you why you left. But this time you don't say you'll visit, how could you though? You're dead.

The fourth minute again is something I want to forget, something you told me never to do. I bring the cool metal to my wrist and I slash at my skin, not caring about the blood which stains my shirt red. I don't even care as my vision fogs and I fall to the floor. I don't care because you're dead.

The fifth minute shows me something I regret so horribly, I throw the flowers I bought for you at your grave. Stomping like a five year-old, I get mad at you. Yelling at you for leaving me. I hope you can forgive me, the flowers were your favorite though. Daisies.

The sixth minute is recent and it's a better time. I walk in the forest where we'd play and here, with the birds chirping into the night... I feel like you're right here next to me. I pluck a daisy from the ground and smile.

The seventh minute is the minute I died. The car collides with me and I fall to the ground again, blood marring my shirt. My head pounds and I remember something you said once, 'It isn't death we fear, it's the unknown.'

Now, the seventh minute is over, and the brain slows down to a stop as the last bit of life leaves my body. Now, the unknown is known and I'm with you. The seven minutes are over and I'm dead too.