At first even your ash-like skin that was as thin as a curtain
tossed over your bones didn’t make me realize how bad of shape you were in.
Life seemed endless until we parted for a mimicked eternity
yet it was only a day later that I saw you in your new room.
We were in the same room but there were still walls between us.
A tear snuck out the corner of my eye as I reached your bed
but you didn’t notice,
Your face seemed detached from emotion or yourself even for that matter.
Tubes were attached to you as if you were a marionette tossed aside.
I finally built up the courage to place my hand on yours.
I needed to reassure myself with touch that this situation was real
That you were real.
You felt foreign and almost
sacred.
Countless words were scrambling to escape me
but my quivering lip wouldn’t allow it.
I stood there feeling so small even though you
were the one laying there like a plastic doll in it’s packaging.
My face glazed over as I saw images of my future.
My future. Not our future.
I started to realize that we’d never talk again.
We’ll never talk again.
Before getting too choked up, I sputtered
some words outside of a simple sentence structure.
These words were about love, hope, and family.
The words seemed too empty to even reach your ears.
I left your room but I didn’t really go anywhere.
Sometimes I walk aimlessly to get far from familiarity
but the anguish from you seems to stick with me anywhere
People tell me that these thoughts seem to fade.
They tell me that I learn to live with it.
But for now
I only seem to die with it.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
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