Hold her hand,
feel the blood,
which used to rage through her skin
and consume you.
You have loved truly—
Given her hope in the days when her young heart
almost fell with no rescue in sight.
(Is that how it feels for you now?)—
Her pulse is a flutter and not a storm,
Years have flowed between you,
from the days of whispers and storms,
kisses that tasted like a promise.
You spoke of kittens and thunderstorms,
and one day you promised forever.
But what do you do when forever ends?
When she slips farther and farther and
you cannot reach her?
Listen for the whisper of what you were,
feel the fading heartbeat of this moment,
and look up, look up—
True friend, my love—
Goodbye can be outlasted, if it’s you and I—
And this bridge is not so far,
this veil is not too thick.
No pulse now—
just you, weeping,
But do you see me, still?
Not in that bed, sheathed in wraithlike skin,
falling to dust.
Look, my darling, my love—
our last goodbye was nothing but
the first page of the story.