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.