An hourglass: that’s all she was anymore. Through her translucent skin he could almost see the grains of sand dripping like acid. He tried to imagine her full and plump and laughing. He could almost pretend that her lips were slightly parted, sipping on green tea with a hint of honey, and he could almost see every emotion she’d ever felt swimming in her pale blue eyes.


Almost. He’s been using that word a lot lately. Pretending wasn’t going to change anything, though. His eyes searched her body, and he wondered if anything would look familiar, so he had something to cling onto to stay sane. Of course, there was nothing.

She was unbelievably frail, it was as if she was a stuffed doll and something ripped her insides out. All that remained was skin and bones. Her bouncing blonde curls were even gone. Her disease, like a relentless sea, had pounded against her body for years now. She used to be a rock …no, a boulder. Now she was a mere grain of sand moving at the will of the sea. He wanted to hold her hand, stroke her skin and tell her he loved her and because of that everything was going to be alright. He knew otherwise.
He hated to watch her sleep, his eyes held her breast, reassuring him with every rise and fall that she was still with him. He knew it wouldn’t be long now.

Slowly, her eyes winced open, he could tell it hurt to even blink. A weary smile spread across her face. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to laugh and cry and punch something. Through all of this pain and everything her disease had put her though, she was still the woman he fell in love with; even if she didn’t look the part.

“Hi, babe.” He returned her smile even if it pained him to even look at her.

“Hi.” She managed.

Her eyes were grey. He watched her lips fade, and he thought to himself what a horrible thing to watch: a smile fading, almost like a fading light. He wanted to bring it back, more than anything he wanted her to be happy, but how was he supposed to light up her life when he was lost in the blackness under his own skin?

She closed her eyes again. He didn’t take his eyes off of her, laying his hand on top of hers. Then he felt it, the thing you feel when a person leaves their flesh behind. He was angry at first, he wished he could have stuffed her body and made her plump again. He wanted to punch and scream, but instead he sobbed.

Through his tears he looked around the room, and he as he stared at old pictures and lampshades and ugly wallpaper that she picked out he realized this is what hell must be like. He was trapped in a forever reminder of what life was without her.

He closed his eyes and pictured her in a summer dress, twirling and laughing. She beckoned him with her hands. Her bronze skin and blonde hair sang with beauty. Her wry smile and pale, blue eyes tempted him to come with her. And he almost did.

Almost.