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She lays still,
The rise and fall of her chest are nearly the only movements she makes.
Occasionally, her eyelids flutter open,
Revealing sunken-in cow-brown eyes shaded blue.
Her lips curling towards the inside of her mouth.
Her jaw trembles feebly while she murmurs,
In reply to the sweet words whispered into her ear.
Her responses are nearly unintelligible, but somehow understood.
She lays still,
The rise and fall of her chest now seems forced,
Too uniform to be natural.
Her sunken eyes remain closed,
Bits of pale yellow sleep lie delicately on her lashes.
Her mouth is somewhat hanging open,
Like that of a person in a deep, restful sleep.
Perhaps it’s better to think of it that way.
No more murmurs escape her dry lips,
But the loving whispers continue to grace her ears.
Her wrinkled, careworn hands are ice cold.
The blood can’t reach that far anymore.
Her heart is slowly losing its battle,
And beginning to retreat.
She lays still.
The rise and fall of her chest has ceased.
Finally, her tired lungs and exhausted heart can rest.
Hey closed eyes look peaceful,
And the worry that once blanketed her face is no longer present.
Now, she looks happy, painless, and free.
Then, the loving whispers turn to sobs,
Echoing throughout an otherwise quiet house.
Her loved ones weave together and drape themselves over her body like a burial cloth,
Seeking comfort in her still warm body.
To her, this is a new beginning,
Because now she lives in a far better place.
But to us, it seems like a tragic end,
But it’s an end we have to embrace.