7 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 ~ dnf

seven...

Seven days...

Seven days they said.
Seven days that we have left
Seven days that I will not rest
Seven days that I will cherish
Seven days until he will perish

I have nothing left to give.
For it is all buried under the thought,
that he will no longer live.
I write in this journal,
because I am filled with so much sorrow
and so much pain.
I am broken.

He wouldn't last more than a week
out of the hospital,
they said.
It's now or never
and I know how much he's struggling,
but I need to see him away from that bed.

All of those intravenous lines.
The tubes that tie him down.
He's confined
to that bed in that small hospital room.
It still haunts me.
Infectious sights
that'll never leave me alone.

I sleep with my light on,
because I keep having nightmares.
I'm scared.
So very scared,
because I can hardly recognize the one I love.
He just looks so different
with all that equipment,
attached to him.

The sight makes me sick to my stomach.
Like I could vomit
the second the vision of him
in that hospital bed,
scours my thoughts.

I keep reminiscing
over the fact,
that this isn't a dream.
But I wish it was.

Because then,
I could wake up,
and the nightmare
would simply be over.
But it's not.
It keeps going.
A continuous loop
that I am stuck in.
Riding on a rollercoaster
that only goes upside down,
eternally.

When the doctor asks me one simple question,
I can not comprehend a single word
he has just recited to me.
Dream keeps staring at me.
Looking at me with those eyes.
Those eyes full of redness and guilt,
sorrow and pain.
Big eye bags,
as he's struggling to keep his eyelids open.

He's tired.
So very tired.
He's trying,
I know.
He's trying his best
to stay awake just for me.
Because he tells me
even with few words
and little communication,
he still manages to tell me
how strongly he's holding up.

But there are no tears.
He's never cried,
and I can't understand how.
He's laying on his death bed,
with just a few days left to live.

I worry,
because I don't know how much longer
he can last.
I worry,
because I don't know if tomorrow is ever
going to come.
I worry,
because today could be the last I see him alive.
I worry,
because I love him.
and I worry,
because i'm scared
of when that time will come,
where I find him resting peacefully in his bed,
but never getting up.

I worry for the day,
where it all falls apart,
and Dream is taken away from me.
I worry for the day,
when Dream is dead.

He's hurting,
I know.
But he puts on a broad smile
with chapped and cracked lips
just for me.

And I know
he thinks I don't understand,
that he is dying.
But I do.
I know damn well,
that he's dying.
That he's currently lying on his death bed,
but I choose to ignore it.
To hide
and bury it
deep,
deep down inside.

In an attempt
to remove the fact from simply existing,
at all.
In hopes,
that if I don't acknowledge it,
it will soon leave me alone,
and go away.

But it keeps coming back.
like a boomerang.

Restless nights,
sleeping on an uncomfortable hospital chair
with old wooden legs,
that are soon to give out.
Just like Dream's heart.

I hate it here.
I hate it so much.
It's so awful,
and I feel like my intestines
are getting ripped out
every couple of seconds.

The eerie vibes of this room
and entire building.
I hate it
and I never
want to return here
ever again,
after today.