Love, in the time of cancer

I may have months to live
She sighed and looked at the bulb
The specks were still there
As they counted the
days like borrowed coins.

She didn’t want to listen
To the words of truth
She hoped to breathe
And counted on him

He didn’t promise love
But his presence was enough
But where is he?
The tea has gone cold
Since he had come this far.

In the ward,
Others had vanished and she
Stayed there quiet,
Writing letters to no one
To keep them under her pillow

When he opened the door
To her closed eyes
He smiled at her face
And took the letter under her pillow

“I wrote this when you were sleeping
because you listen better
when you don’t look at me.

I was scared of your eyes
asking me to stay
when even my body
was packing things quietly.

I didn’t fight hard
not because I didn’t love you
but because pain already
took enough space.

If I go first
please don’t call it strong
or fate
or god’s plan.
Call it unfinished”

He read it twice,
missed a line,
read again.

Her hand was still warm
for reasons no one explains.

He put the letter back
not exactly where it was,
sat there
till the nurse cleared her throat
like time reminding him
to leave.

The tea stayed cold.
It stayed that way.