The first thing you say when you open your eyes was “water”. The second was my name. It was 4 in the morning when hospital called and I literally ran to the ICU didn’t even realize i wore wrong pair of shoes. You smiled seeing me, but was too weak to make a joke about my tears.
You moved to observation room the next couple of day. The doctor still didn’t let you go outside so i just opened up the curtain.
I take the day of today, feeling like want to be just on your side. You finally say sorry for leaving too long. I say it’s okay as long as you’re going back. I tell him to fight it.
But i myself don’t know whether it’s right to say it. You’ve been fighting for this disease for too long. I don’t know it’s more miserable to see you finally gone or to see you dying like this when you just had really enough. And when giving up is just more appealing than fighting it.
You whisper that the only thing that makes you holding on is me. And then you fall asleep.