These Are Not My Truths, III

III
The clinic was filled with people
of all shapes and sizes,
there is a couple sitting opposite me
a blue haired boy with a Mohawk
with a sea green haired girl
who has a single streak of red.
She’s crying, into his shoulder,
his face is sad, as he whispers to her
“It’s better this way, it’s better this way,
it’s better this way.”

I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince himself,
her, or me.
Even though I know he’s right.