prolonging the prologue

1. Where your eyes should be are two overflowing pools, spilling saltwater down your cheeks. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen you cry before. I was convinced that you didn’t know how. It feels like I’m invading your privacy to see you this way and every part of my body is begging me to leave you to cry alone. My heart keeps me here, weighted down by your sorrow. I cannot leave you here.

2. I need you. I’m not saying I like you or that I want to be with you, I’m saying I need you. My actions never feel complete and my thoughts never seem valid without you. You’re sitting right next to me and it is ridiculous how flawless you look even in the stark fluorescent lighting of the hospital and with tears running down your soft cheeks. I know how terrible you must be feeling right now and there is an ache in my chest unlike anything I’ve felt ever before because there is simply nothing I can do to make things better. Your great grandmother is lying there unconscious and there’s a large possibility that she is never going to wake up. I don’t think you have any idea how much it would tear me up inside if I lost you like that. I guess it’s a good thing that they say men usually die before women because I really don’t think I could live without you for very long. Although, the thought of leaving you here alone is just as terrible. I wish we could leave this hospital right now, run away from our responsibilities, and make the most of every second we have together.


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