I sat beside you that day, as you smiled your gentle smile. The wrinkles on your face caressed the warmth in your eyes. The evening sunlight spilled from the hospital windows, outlining your fragile yet beautiful frame. Despite the machines beeping next to you, and the oxygen mask strapped to your face, and the sickly smell of antiseptic throughout the room, you acted like nothing was wrong. Instead, you concentrated on talking.
And it was relaxing, to be honest. Despite months of fighting, crying, and devastating silence, here we were, just talking. About life. And love. And sorrow.
And as our voices grew hushed with nostalgia, I rubbed the palm of your hand with my thumb. I closed my eyes then, and listened.
Laurel Black is a writer who enjoys eating, sleeping, and dreaming of nothing in particular. She finds inspirations in various video games and movies, as well as other books. You can learn more about her on her blog, https://thetragedyoflaurelblack.wordpress.com.