Words of the wind
A phantom life
Did he ever actually exist?
I cannot recall his face
His passing is engraved in my memory though.
. . . .
One sad Wednesday
Of a certain year
His heart stopped beating.
I was sitting at the stool placed right next to the left side of his bed
I comped his hair
His white curls were lost within my hands
I cleaned his chops with wet wipes
And told him how handsome he was
A smile was painted on his aged canvas of a face
Then I touched his hand
It was somewhat cold
But he was still breathing
A tear, two tears
I instinctively wiped them away with a handkerchief
He turned towards me and nodded his head in gratitude
His eyes fell upon my own
And stayed there for what seemed to be an eternity
“Was this your farewell?”
3 more minutes
Or 176000 more milliseconds
The numbers keep rising
As the time shortens
--what a tragicomedy--
I believe he knew the end was coming
And he was preparing for the long trip to the other side of the lake
His immersive gaze transfixed my whole body
And all I did was to stare back at him
He took a deep breath
And a third one
A kind of silence you’d never ask for.