heart monitors-dreamnotfound

twenty-seven

I put my hand back to my side, looking at how your face was so relaxed when you slept. You had a subtle smile on your lips, and I laughed softly because I knew that you always smiled when you slept.

"I'm dying, Dream," I whispered. "They told me yesterday, and I guess it only just hit me."

I wondered if you were awake, but you didn't react.

"That's why I was crying, it's because of everything. I'm dying, and there's nothing I can do about it," I grabbed your hand from my waist and held it, a tear rolling down my face as I felt the familiar warmth of your hand.

"If I could do anything to stop me from dying, I would. If I could spend one more day with you, I would. But that's not how the world works. We don't all get what we want— let alone what we need," I smiled sadly at you, the bittersweet feeling pulling at my chest. "I needed you, and I still do. More than ever."

"But you need me too, just in a different way. You've always had my back, always watching out for me in these ways I could never imagine," I interlocked our fingers, marveling at the way they fit perfectly as if they had found each other by fate. "Now it's my turn to protect you."

"I want to tell you so badly, that I won't be here forever. But that's okay because I'm telling you now," I laughed through the tears, because the only thing worse than being sad is being sad but pretending that you're okay. "I know it doesn't count, but maybe you'll make an exception for me this time."

I hesitated because I knew you would.

"It's unfair that you'll risk everything for me, but I've never gotten the opportunity to do that for you. I don't think I ever will."

"I love you, Dream," I said because it was so true. "I love you more than anything, and I wish you knew that." I held your hand more firmly, but it felt sad because I knew that I wouldn't be the one holding it in the future.

"I don't think love stops at death," I admitted. "There's this one quote from this poet, Dylan Thomas. He was my grandmother's favorite poet. We'd visit her house every summer, and she'd tell me random quotes at the most random of times. She'd tell me poems when I helped her water the flowers on the front porch, when we sat together early in the morning as the radio hummed in the background. She even had embrodied tiny quotes on the face of her throw pillows and decorative blankets," I had laughed. I didn't know why I was telling you this, but it felt right.

"It was another early morning in her house, it was just us two, everyone else had slept in. She was making fruit salad, and I was sitting at the table. We talked about nothing and everything at the same time, that was what made our bond special. Each moment of silence was comfortable, only there because there was nothing important to say. I asked about my grandfather who had passed a couple of years ago. I didn't think much of it at that moment, but I should have," I smiled at the memory.

"She stopped stirring the bowl, her gaze drifting from the window to me. Her eyes were glossed over, and I could tell that she was still hurting. She didn't say anything about him, she just smiled and said, 'though lovers be lost, love shall not.'" I laughed at how the words came so easily from my mouth. "I didn't know what they meant, but I do now, or I will."

"She died three years after that, and I had forgotten about that morning. After all, it wasn't more significant than every morning. But she didn't forget, Dream, she remembered everything, and she left me a note that said the same exact poem."

"I won't stop loving you after I die. Death isn't the end, it's just a minor inconvenience. I don't know why I'm telling you this even when you're never going to know, but it feels right. I want you to know that our love will not be lost, only I will be."