I pace. White walls. I pull the jacket closer around me and pray that I don’t cry. Really, it’s the waiting that’s the worst part. I try to calm my thoughts, but none of it is any good. Everything up in the air ready to crash down around me; falling darkness. The blackness surrounds me, encompasses my every thought, bleak, suffocates me. I long for and also dread his arrival.


As I sit and stare at the ceiling, legs worn down, I am overcome with tiredness and sorrow. So crushing I feel as if I cannot move my head even an inch so that I can watch the door. I hate the waiting the most. I would rather someone came to me, to tell me what is going on, instead of letting this darkness swallow me, but I am not even sure I would be able to move to look at them.


The room is dank and dark. Pathetic television doesn’t even have sound in this place. Some damn soap. The walls a dank orange and it sucks. The dark outside is as frightening as the blackness in my own brain. It’s unnatural how quiet the halls outside are. I cannot bring myself to stand up and walk the two hundred paces to the bathroom.


Finally, footsteps approach. My heart a hundred miles an hour. A face at the door. White coat. Stethoscope. Long face. My head drops to my hands as he speaks words I can’t take in or understand. Impossible. This is so hard to believe. I can’t truly let this sink in. I stand, and begin the slowest walk of my life. My feet drag. I truly can’t go on now.


I look at her. Innocent. Beautiful. I approach the bed with a sense of dread. There are no words for me to describe my feelings. I can’t accept this. I’m by the bedside. I reach out to her hand. Ice already. I bend down and kiss her cheek. The only thing I can think to say: “goodnight”…


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