All We Have Left

One hour with you is all I have left. You whispered through beams of hospital lighting, telling me to run. I think because you didn't want me to see you like this. I don’t know why, but I stayed. Rebels aren’t supposed to have a cause, that’s what you always said. But you were mine. Way back when your voice was full of life not dreading sorrow. The blue in your aquamarine eyes faded to dull green, and I don’t know what to do.

You said we would be okay. Held my hand carefully in the back of a taxi, like we were both made of glass, and maybe we were. That was before I held your hand in the back of the ambulance. We pulled leather jackets over white t shirts. I swiped Marilyn Monroe posters from the vintage store across the way, and you tucked red lipstick from Macy’s into your side pocket because I’ve always wanted to look like a movie star. You always preferred pink. Even if we got caught, you promised we’d be alright.

We pretended to be happy and alive, both things neither of us will ever be again.

Thirty minutes is all I have left before they turn life support off. The nurse assured me it wouldn’t hurt. Be just like flipping a switch, she explained in her thick Long Island accent that still sounded foreign to my Georgian ears. Easy for her to say, she's not losing her only love, her only friend, only companion in this harsh world. It will hurt me. It won’t hurt you, and that’s all that matters. I think I’ll move back south. Every New Yorkers' eyes is blame thrown in my direction. Call me a coward, maybe I am.

I’m going to bury you in denim. I don’t care what they say. It’s how you would have wanted to go. It feels awful to think about your funeral. I think I’ll wear your jacket. If that’s alright. Even six feet under, I’ll be close to you. Closer than we are now, at least. I mean, how close can two people be when an oxygen mask is covering the other’s face?

I wish I could say goodbye, but that’s too final. I want to spend the next twenty minutes remembering you as you used to be, red hair bright as the stars you studied back in astronomy class before you dropped out, pale skin fresh as fallen snow, blue eyes deep as the Pacific. Your lips that will never move again will haunt me in my sleep, I’m sure.

Ten minutes left, gosh, where did the time go? I’m never going back to our apartment. I’ve made my decision. Nobody will miss me, but I’ll always miss you. Now the nurse is shuffling me out, but I can’t feel anything. The doctor’s glaring at me. Maybe I’m screwing up his schedule or he hates leather. Either way, I glare back just as cold. You were the only thing making me warm and nice, and now that you’re gone, well...

My knees buckle outside. I think I’m done now. I miss you.