I felt you slip away from me.
I broke through the windows.
The shattered glass still sticking from my hand.
There's blood dripping from my veins.
It represents my efforts.
It represents my failures.
As the air came rushing in, my mouth to yours.
Your body rejected me.
For your lungs stopped breathing two minutes too soon.
Two minutes.
Two red lights.
One wrong turn too soon.
My fingers interlace with one another as I mumble incoherent words attempting to pray for a miracle.
I press down on your chest.
One.
Two.
Three.
You don't push back.
I look down at your face.
No semblance of motion.
Of life.
I hear nothing except the blood coursing through my brain.
Like red waves, taking me under and engulfing me whole.
I hear nothing but my own labored breathing.
I hear nothing but my own heart beating.
Beating so loudly as if it can call out to your own heart…
"Please, wake up."
Two minutes, too late.
I can feel my body slow as the realization of the inevitable seeps in.
The lump in my throat growing, pulsating.
As the world attempts to take my air.
As if yours wasn't enough.
My vision blurs as my brain continues to search for answers—
Knowing it will find nothing.
My hand, rough and calloused, searches for yours.
Seeking the familiarity of the life that once coursed through it.
I find nothing.
I find no one.
You are gone.
I take the body that once held you and cradle it in my arms.
Such intimacy.
Such reverence.
For you were once housed in this temple.
I feel the lips that were once yours.
I caress the cheeks that were once yours.
I chastely kiss every inch of the face that was once yours.
As your temple, unlike your memory, is only temporary.
Two missed calls.
Two red lights.
One wrong turn.
Two minutes, too late.
I close my eyes.
I hold you to my chest one last time.
And I am lost.