Sick Days

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I’m right here, lying next to you.




Blue eyes are looking into blue.
I start to count the freckles on your face
1, 2, 3, 4…
You kiss me as my hand rests on your cheek.
The stubble is prickly against my skin,
But I like it and you know that.
We speak in baby talk,
Our voices mimic that of two five year olds.
This is our last year at home.
This is our year together.
My stomach hurts, so you rub my tummy for awhile.
It feels nice, your hand, on my hot feverish skin.
I haven’t showered, brushed, or shaved in a few days.
I’m a sick, disgusting mess.
You don’t care, you say,
“I love you.”
My eyes smile as I say I love you too.
I’m still right here, lying next to you.





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