I build my pillows up on one side of my bed and cover them in blankets. I scooch my body as close to the mound as possible. Nuzzling my head in towards them. This isn't working. I thought that if I built this fort then it would feel like you're here, love. Obviously nothing compares to you, not even this mountain of pillows that are trying to replicate your body. It'll have to do for now.
I cry, the tears keep rolling down my cheeks. These are silent though, no weeping like every other night. It's not easy, being without you. I can't think of a more difficult time in my life. It was easier coping with your actual death itself than the aftermath of pain and miserable nights. At least when you died I could tell myself that you're not suffering anymore. But that's when my suffering began.
You've stopped talking to me. We used to have elaborate conversations about nothing at all. Just a week ago, we talked about the rain. Where did you go? I still call your name in he dead of night, awaking with a nightmare. But you don't answer, and I know you won't.
The silence is killing me slowly. I've stopped eating all together. I can see my body decline with every inevitable glance in the mirror. It's harder to sleep now. And-
I miss you incredulously. When are you coming home?
Your body warms me. Visiting hours are almost over and you'll have to leave my room. This hospital room, I mean. It's become so familiar to me that I've fogotten that it's not home. You're my home. My love.
I'm getting worse, and you can tell. I know you know because you're crying all the time. Kissing my cheek, endless goodbyes. Endless love.
If there's an after life then I'll miss you. But that doesn't compare to the way I'm leaving you. I'm so sorry, love, to leave you like this.
"Visiting hours are over," a pretty brunette nurse informs us.
"I'll be here when you awake, don't worry," you hesitate, "I love you, Danny," you say it with so much meaning, so much intent.
"I love you, too. Always," and soon enough, you're gone.
Now is the part when I'm afraid that I won't wake. It's unlikely. The odds are against our marriage. Yet, I'm glad I said yes.
YOU ARE READING
"'I'll be here when you awake, don't worry,' you hesitate, 'I love you, Danny,' you say it with so much meaning, so much intent. 'I love you, too. Always,' and soon enough, you're gone."