Joining the lights

"One by one the lights fall away from the earth."

"He's terminal." The doctor admits. She explains briefly his condition. I feel numb tears fall down my face. Nate doesn't deserve this.

"Does he know?" I ask, this can't be real. This must be Nate trying to scare me, must be a joke.

"Yes."

My stomach sinks.

"How did he take it?"

"He didn't seem surprised, just disappointed."

It is him. He's dying. It's not a joke. I'm gonna lose him. How inevitable, whenever I'm at a high point in life something drags me down. Panic eats at me as the conversation drags on.

"How long does he have?" My voice is flat.

"A few months."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course," she replies. I'm led into a well lit light blue hospital room. His bed is centered, headrest against the wall.

His curly light brown hair is disheveled. He looks painfully skinny, the edges of his frame sharp and gaunt. It's hard to look at him when just a few months ago he was much healthier. Tired blue eyes with ripples of green stare at me. I wish I could suffer in place of him. Nate's too kind of a person to deserve this.

"Hey." He says, his voice much more hoarse than the familiar rich sound that rumbled from his chest.

"He-y." I choke on a sob. He smiles sadly and opens skeleton-like his arms. His arms feel weak, but still hold the familiar safety I always found in him.

"It'll be fine." He states, with confidence. I hope the confidence isn't fained for my sake.

"How can it be okay when you're . . . dying?" I sob.

"Everyone dies eventually, love, it's not earth shattering that I am as well. Life is just a simple preoccupation before death."

"It is actually word shattering. Maybe not for you, Mr. Poet, but for me."

He hums in response and runs his fingers through my hair repeatedly.

"There's nothing you can do about it." He says, twisting a strand between his long, veiny fingers.

"There should be, it's not fair."

"It's not our fault the world is fallen."

"Yeah but you don't deserve this if anything i do."

He sighs deeply and sinks into the pillow. I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heart beating. Its rhythm feels like the pace of blows on my conscious, rapid. It's adorable how he still gets nervous when I touch him. At least I hope that's what he's nervous about.

"Is there anything I can do to make you stop worrying?" He breathes.

"You could live a long life. You're only twenty-one."

"We both know that isn't possible."

"One by one the lights fall away from the earth." I say after a pause.

"I hate that poem." He mumbles in my hair

"That's because you wrote it."

"Why do you have to quote what I write?"

"Because it's true."

"Fine then if we're going to quote my poetry at least remember that 'a new flame replaces it, each one more beautiful than the last.' So there's no reason to be sad. There is always death and new life."

I shift so I can look him in the eye.

"You keep talking like that, mister, and I'll quote more of your poems."

"Anything but that. I regret sharing them with you."

"Well I like them anyway. Especially since you react like this when I quote them."

"So you memorized them so you could harass me."

"Exactly."

"I'm engaged to a sadistic psychopath who likes harassing dying men. Even though they are super hot and don't deserve it. I don't know what's wrong with her."

We both laugh softly. He gently kisses my forehead.

"And I'm in love with an egotistical weirdo who writes poetry."

He abruptly pushes me onto the floor. I glare up at him.

"Uh huh I love you too. You're adorable when you're mad, you know that." He smirks down at me, holding his head in his hand.

"I take it back, I hate you."

"You know I'm too lovable for you to feel that way for long." He taunts. I stick my tongue out like a child and give him the finger. He returns the favor with his grin.