Unnamed (i)

Your hand is pale white on top of mine. Your fingers thin, shaking. You are scared. You hadn’t known that you’d wake up in a hospital room with blue walls. You tell me that the room stinks of failure, of fatigue. You tell me that the walls are closing in on you. I do not know what to say. I am crying.  I hadn’t known that you’d wake up in a hospital room with blue walls. I hadn’t known if you’d wake up at all. Your left wrist is bandaged. I do not know how deep the cuts are. I do not want know. I had seen the blood last night. Red, flowing.  You know that blood scares me. You know that seeing you bleed scares me. The bandages are white. They create a stark contrast to last night’s red. I draw green flowers on them with a felt tip pen. You smile softly. Your lips are dry, chapped. I want to kiss you. You tell me that you have never seen green flowers. I tell you that I haven’t, either. Your wrist is bandaged. Your lips, chapped. I want to kiss you. Your eyes search for mine. They look defeated. Our fingers entwine. I look at the blue walls. The second-hand of the square clock mounted on the wall doesn’t seem to be moving at all. You ask me if I can feel the walls closing in. I do not know what to say. I nod. My eyes are red, burning. I close them. I ask you if you still want to stop breathing. You probably nod. I keep my eyes closed. You ask me to look at you. I keep my eyes closed. You beg me to look at you. I keep my eyes closed. You tell me that you’d die if I don’t look at you. I keep my eyes closed. You ask me if it hurts too much. I nod. I imagine the blade sliding over your pale skin. I nod again. I imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t found you last night. The doctors said that if we had been even three minutes late, they wouldn’t have been able to save you. You had lost too much blood. I remember picking you up in my arms and carrying you out of our apartment, down the stairs of our building. I nod again. I ask you if you still want to stop breathing. I open my eyes and look at your face. You are crying. Your lips are chapped. You do not nod. Your hand tightens its grip on mine. I sigh. The tears won’t stop. You tell me that you do not like seeing me cry. I tell you that I do not want you to stop breathing. You smile. Your lips are chapped. Your eyes, swollen.  I kiss you. The second-hand of the square clock mounted on the blue wall starts moving. I kiss you, again. You smile.

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