My breathing was accelerating and my head was growing warm. All I could focus on was the touch of his fingers on my clammy skin. I lay there with my heavy eyes closed, waiting to feel his warmth indulge me. My breath becomes shallower as my adrenaline rises – pumping through my veins in every which way, giving the sense of euphoria an entirely new connotation.

Soft whispers in my ear and even softer kisses upon my neck. Every hair on my body stands at attention as his tongue caresses my collarbone. Strong hands stroke my thigh, forcing my back to arch in a fashion greatly intensifying the moment.

I look up into his eyes and become mesmerized by the mystery of which they enclose. A man full of lust, is stripped of humility.

He signals me to close my eyes as he kisses them shut.

I wait for a long while to feel his touch again. I begin to grow impatient. My body is tingling; heart is racing. As soon as my mind begins to wander, it is immediately conveyed back into focus. My skin is propelled into shock as I feel a surge of cold water embrace my trembling stomach. He traced the lines of my body with ice tucked between his lips. Circling my navel and finishing the last drop at the nape of my neck.

Bodies coming close, producing heat, making memories, forgetting the stressors of life. Every cell of my existence is screaming…

…and then I wake up.

The fireplace was lit and the room was warm. She lay on his chest, under the blanket, within his arms. They liked to lay on the floor by the fire. The lights were long gone. Flames from the fire and scattered candles allowed them to see. All they needed to see was each other. All they needed was to know the other was there.

The two 22 year olds lay together, intertwined, breathing synonymously. Her nose got tingly and her throat developed a lump the size of her fist. What was she to do when he leaves her? Who would she lay with? Who would keep her warm?

She tried to hold back the tears, but the tingling grew stronger. He knew. He kissed her hair to let her know it was ok to cry. He was crying too.

She sat up and looked directly at him. Her hair fell over her shoulders and across her face. She placed her unsteady hand on his chest and traced his collar bone. He reached for his camera and smiled. He just wanted a few more pictures. He could never get enough.

She lay on the hard floor and moved slowly as he captured the beautiful images of his angel. She closed her eyes and imagined them together one last time. That’s all she could ask for.

The series of photos would accompany him on his journey. When the days were hot and the nights were long, he would look at them, admire them, long for her touch. Long for her scent, long for her kisses.

It was 13 months last time, it would be longer this time.

She sat up and he continued. Every moment was perfect.

He would miss her laugh, her smile, her eyes. He would miss how she looked up at him in the morning. He would miss calling her at 2 in the morning to bother her. Although it was no bother at all. He would miss hearing about her days at work, the lives she saved, the one’s she lost.

He would miss hearing her sassy sarcasm and her witty jokes. His favorite was to hear her opinion on a subject she was passionate about. He loved seeing her passion.

She would miss more. His hands, smile, positivity, jokes, comfort, warmth. His concern, interest, attention. His beautiful mind, his beautiful soul.

They thought the world of each other, and now were going to be worlds apart.

He snapped the last few photos and motioned her to rejoin him by the fire. He took her head in his hands and mouthed I love you to her.

When they arrived at the airport the next morning, he did the same. Wiped her tear, mouthed I love you, and marched away. He marched into her heart like a firecracker, and marched out the very same way.

That night, she sat by the fire. Alone this time. Thinking about him. Missing him.

They were sitting on the playground, actively avoiding each other. Who knew it was possible for eye contact to be awkward in kindergarten? She twirled her pigtail and brushed off her navy blue skirt. He picked his nose and ate it. He knew she was looking at him.

In second grade, he asked if she would like to help him draw a picture. They scribbled and doodled, and he teased her drawing.

In fourth grade, they ate lunch together. Every day, he saved her a seat while she waited in line to get her sandwich. When she didn’t have money one day, he gave her his pudding and acted like he wasn’t hungry. She insisted that they share.

In sixth grade, they held hands. After school he would walk her home and do their homework on the front porch. She was good at English, he was good at Math. They both loved Science. Her mom would watch as they laughed and played. She knew.

In eighth grade, he finally kissed her. She stubbed her toe when they were fishing at the lake. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh, or be concerned because he thought she was cute when she was worked up about something. When he went to check on her, she looked up and her watery eyes glistened. He couldn’t help himself and just kissed her on the lips. After that, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

The two were attached at the hip. She trusted him with her life and he would do anything to see her smile. He was with her through her first PMS phase, and she high-fived him for his first armpit hair. He held her hand when she needed stitches for the first time, and she held him close when his dad got really sick.

Two weeks after her 17th birthday, he took her to their favorite spot. The open field and bright, starry sky made them feel like they were the only ones on Earth. It was so peaceful. He looked at her innocent face and admired every aspect. He could still see the eight-year-old girl twisting her pigtails at recess. They lay on the blanket in silence. Feeling the warmth of one another. Noticing the breath of the other. She turned to him and whispered, I love you.

His eyes remained closed as he whispered back, I know. You’ve loved me for a long time, but I loved you first.

And with that, he embraced her as they made love for the first time. Young, sweet, love.

The two were calm, and sure. He kissed her slowly and moved his hands along her stomach, encircling her navel.

Her fingers caressed the back of his neck as she sucked on his lower lip. She could feel the hormones pumping through her body as he moved on top of her.

First his shirt, then hers. They moved in sync with only the light of the crescent moon to guide them.

His soft, unsteady lips traveled down her chin to her neck, and eventually her breasts. When he returned to her ear, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked her in the eyes. She was ready.

Slow, smooth movements. A rush of warmth as goose bumps formed up her back. He loved her even more than he thought was possible.

Long nights turned into early mornings and by her 23rd birthday, she spent her days helping him in and out of bed. His legs grew weaker every day as she grew stronger. It wouldn’t be long until he couldn’t move at all.

They passed the time laughing, talking, eating, and thinking. Fifteen years had passed since they met in second grade. He was her best friend, and she was his rock. They planned their life together and he made her promise that she would love like this again. It made her mad to hear him talk like that, but she promised.

The moon was bright that night. She stayed next to him until he gasped for the last time. When her tear drop hit his cheek, silence filled the room.

She was broken.

She was alone.

He was gone.

Sitting here at 2:00 am, the room is silent… except for the continuously beeping pump in the next room over. It seems to be the only thing in this place that doesn’t get tired.

I close my eyes and inhale the familiar germicidal aroma of the sticky hand sanitizer that I keep reapplying. I can only use it four or five times before my hands need a fresh wash in the sink. When I open my eyes, I see my patient sleeping soundly after an eventful evening. He finally calmed down and gave up fighting with me about having a cigarette.

Sometimes I wonder why… Why do I put myself through these long, silent nights? Why do I willingly sit with some of these people knowing they will likely kick me, spit on me, hit me, or curse at me? Why do I sacrifice my body for theirs?

Because of that. What I’m looking at right now. A person in need, sleeping in peace.

Whether it is drugs, alcohol, mental illness, or the gruesome effects of aging… They suffer. But when I walk into the room for my shift, I suffer. I suffer for them.

I do what I can to make them comfortable. I do what I need to, to make sure they are taken care of. I talk about life, feed them pudding, walk them to the bathroom, and help them bathe. I measure intake and output, I empty colostomy bags and foleys, I monitor vitals, and I make their bed. I document the situation every fifteen minutes and alert the nurse of any significant changes. I do what I can to keep each patient entertained. My eyes do not leave the patient, and neither does my heart until the end of my eight hour shift.

I do not leave when I have to pee. I do not leave when visitors come to visit. I do not leave when they attack me. I do not leave their side.

The twenty-something year old guy withdrawing from heroin will likely yell, scream, and hit me. The elderly woman with dementia will punch me, spit on me, and bite my arm. The suicidal mother will cry to me for an hour and then try to suffocate herself while pretending to sleep.

But it is my job to make sure these things don’t happen. It is my duty to take on the burden of their suffering and hold it on my shoulders for a while. It is my job to help them get through this scary time in their life so that they can sleep soundly at night.

I sit here so your mother can be safe. I sit here so you can sleep at home knowing your brother is being watched. I sit here, so you don’t have to worry.

Sitting in this hospital is normal for me… It’s my job. But for my patient and their family, it’s the scariest time of their life. 

The corner was dark

So small and confined

Behind the pine Christmas tree

She sat there so blind

Not blind in her eyes,

But deep in her heart

She hoped to spot Santa

Before his depart

A tear would soon form

And run down her cheek

She thought she missed Santa

She longed for a creak

Wiping her eyes,

Dusting her dress,

She rose from the corner

Careful to not make a mess

Click, Click, Clack

She heard such a clatter

Turning towards the chimney

Saw debris that would spatter

Quickly she hid

Behind the big chair

She pressed her hands close

And started her prayer

Her little eyes closed

And mouth forming words

She stopped very quickly

Couldn’t believe what she heard

Is that you Santa Clause?

Are you answering my prayer?

I’ve been hoping for you

This life isn’t fair

It is I, I have come

I’ve received all your prayers

Now what is the problem?

Wipe your eyes, don’t be scared

My Daddy is sick

He doesn’t have long

Mommy said he’d come back

She said to stay strong

I just have one wish

It’s for my Daddy please

When I look in his eyes

It brings me to my knees

He has so much pain

I don’t know what’s wrong

His big warm round hands

They used to be so strong

Listen to me

My sweet little girl

Your Daddy does love you

You are his whole world

This life is not fair

Please pick up your chin

You must understand

Peace comes from within

Your mother is right

This disease is so wrong

She loves you so dearly

Just wait dear, till dawn

But Santa, please listen

My Daddy is sick

He has to get better

Please, Santa do it quick

Listen, my angel

Go back to bed

My work here is done

Remember what I’ve said

Wiping her eyes

The little girl wept

She burst out in tears

Pounding fists; should have slept

Her little feet stumbled

She crawled back in bed

She hated this Santa

She pounded her head

When time came to rest

She fell right asleep

Awoke in the daylight

No time left to weep

Merry Christmas baby

A strange man’s voice said

She awoke in a startle

Peeking across her big bed

Daddy stood in the doorway

With arms open wide

I’m all better baby

The doctors, they lied

I told you I’d be here

I said I wouldn’t leave

Merry Christmas, my love

And always believe

Isn't it so selfishly cowardly of us to be cowards?

To be afraid of life

To be afraid to live

To be afraid to give

How brave would it be to live a life full of lust

Create an existence to be remembered

Give to others what you are afraid to lose

But, it's so unbelievably hard to be brave

Oh, how easy it is to be a coward