His Regret

He watched the campfire flare and spark skyward; sending dancing smoke betwixt the leaves of the aged willow he disguised himself under. A dull rhythm of crickets soothed his ears along with the steady song of firewood crackling. The wayfarer leaned against the bark; releasing a strained sigh while the brim of his hat covered his sunken eyes and gifted shelter to the regret borne in them. One could witness the sorrow beaming from inside himself toward the fire ablaze, praying that the flames would cleanse his uneasiness, but it would not neatly conclude that way. So he held his head down, pondering if the right choice was made. His fists clenched the earth at his sides as he longed to disappear into the grass that made up his bed for the night. He peeked through the vines of the willow that were crawling across the sky. And what he saw beyond the weeping tree pulled the breath from his lungs and nearly stopped his heart. Two stars; like eyes, staring down at him. Like the eyes that stared down the barrel of his revolver.