She's dead, for the 10th time in a row now.
No progress.

He sits there, beside her lifeless corpse.
Wondering if it's worth it to go on, try fruitlessly for a dozen, no, a hundred more times to save her.
Doubt seeps from his skin, his eyes telling a tale of a thousand year open wound in his soul.

What will it be this time?

How many more times will he need to go through this, just to try and save her?

And yet, once again, he gets up-
"Might as well try, life's no different from death if she's not around."
-are his words as he plunges a knife deep into his neck once again.

The cycle will be broken, at some point. The hope may be decaying, but it's still there, somewhere. Faintly glowing.