Unfinished & Unpublished Stories

breathe

We used to lay in bed and hold hands. He'd try apologizing for the lack of words and I would tell him hearing his breath was enough. Every night he would ask me to hold his hand until he fell asleep, I was fine with that. It took a while to get used to all the noise expelled from the machines, but I figured if he could grow use to it, so could I. There came a day where I began to regret never saying more, and shutting down those opportunities to talk at night. Each passing day he would wake up with less strength than before, I knew he wouldn't live much longer. One night he didn't ask me to hold his hand until he fell asleep all he said was, "don't let go", and I didn't. Morning came and everything continued on as it does. However, I found myself drowning in tears, not just mine, but his too. He squeezed my hand with all his strength one last time and said, "thank you".  I wish I had said more during our silence. It's almost been year since he passed, but I still remember his breath as I lay in bed at night. When I imagine his breath at night I lay my hand over my chest and listen to my heart beat, like I once listened to his. I no longer cry at moments like these; I've begun to move on.