They told me you are dead it’s final, your suffering is over they said with sad eyes cast down as if I had not listened to your heartbeat, felt through my hand your last breath watched what was left of your withered body sink daily, deeper, receding sinking slowly so freaking slowly into stark white sheets, abysmally pale like snow cold arms encircling you, more of a hug than I was allowed; I could hold your hand speak softly to closed eyes, never would I see blue like the sky looking back, until lids parted in final goodbye, a mere glimpse as your light faded, hand unclasped mine Julie A. Dickson
