I and You
I'm waiting in the hospital I know you'll come back to. I'm waiting like always because I have something to tell you. It's dark outside and it's raining too. Lightening occasionally paints the rows of white sheets and my anxious fingers further fraying the hem of the creased one I sit upon. The shadows around the door are thrown in reverse with a blast of light. My eyes are riveted to the panel that will slide back and let you in. I have everything planned… but the door finally flies open and everything's wrong. The shadows reverse to reveal you, eyes huge, hair stringy and wild, clothes soaked, hands raised, red hands, red mixing with the rain that runs down your shaking hands. You scream and run to me, by the door, darkness, two beds away, darkness, in my arms for a long time, and then darkness. You're sobbing, small body lurching in my embrace and screaming in pain I don't know.
"He-he's dead!" and I realize the red staining my sleeves is his, "I c-c-cou," and you scream, slumping in my arms. "I couldn't save him," and you cry, cry, cry, shoulders shaking insanely. "I-I," I can't believe this is happening, "I lo-lo-o-o," the words grow with your chest as you take a stabilizing breath. "I love him," comes out in a sigh and a rush of tears. I silently correct you,
I love you. But I can't tell you now. Can't tell you now. Maybe never.