These Words Are All We Have
He’s here. I’m here. We’re both here. This is our now.
I kept trying not to think about what they’ve told me, but their words kept coming as splinters of pain through my mind. I watched his sleeping face for hours. I counted the rise and fall of his chest. I traced my fingers along the veins in his right arm. I watched him toss and turn. He stretched his legs and turned to face me. I pulled the corners of my mouth to create a smile. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at me.
“Did you even sleep?” He asked. “I did. I just miss our bed.” I replied. “I know. I miss it too.” He said. “Do you remember the first time we met?” I asked. He knew what I was doing. I saw it in his eyes. He helped himself up and started telling me all about that day. He talked slowly and told me the exact words I needed to hear. I kept asking him questions and he didn’t mind answering them. In fact, he didn’t mind talking about the exact same topics over and over again for the last two years.
I listened to his words carefully while holding tight onto his arm. I was hurting him and again, he didn’t mind. I tried to memorize everything he said and how he said it. I watched his mouth pronounce words. I watched his cheeks when he laughed. I watched his eyes blink.
“What are you going to do?” He asked.
“No.” I said.
“It’s my turn to ask, don’t you think?” He laughed.
“Tell me.” I said.
“I don’t know.” He whispered.
“I don’t know.” I replied.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
He laid himself down, took a deep breath, and said,
“this was one hell of a ride. I love you, partner.”
I leant down and kissed his forehead. He closed his eyes and didn’t open them back.
They told him he doesn’t have much and I tried not to believe them.