Tap, tap, tap, beep, beep.
The nurses pass quickly and keep their faces as empathetic as possible.
They try their best to ease the pain of everyone in this potentially crippling place.
From the time I met you, when we were kids, I knew.
I knew it was you.
These doctors and nurses, they cannot possibly understand how much I love you.
They try to help, but I know I have to do this on my own.
Your hands seem smaller and paler than usual,
Like the hands of a porcelain doll.
It is as if in three days,
(Just three days since you got sick)
My life has been shut down, shut off, to permanent darkness.
Beep, beep, beep.
The noises around me drown out as I think hard about all the things I love about you.
Your hair.
Your incredible cooking.
Your capability to hold everyone together.
Your ability to understand me.
Now your dazzling, sun-round eyes are closed and your face looks calm.
But inside I know it is different.
You are in more pain than I have ever known.
I look around at the greenish walls in your room.
You do not want to be here;
No one would.
I take a breath and try not to cry.
If I cry too much, I won’t be able to take in the angles and familiar curves of your face.
I reach over and flip a switch.
The beeping.
It stops.
I hold your hand just like I have done innumerable times before and wait with you, for peace to come.
That day I met you when we were kids, I knew I loved you.
And I love you still.