A/N: This one's hopeful, and of course, it's all for Maria again.
Disclaimer: NO.
He looks at her
and whispers,
"dear, you'll be fine.
I'll be here by your side—
the odd one out
in this room of white,
in this false haven
of pureness and serenity
where dreams have been crushed
and lives have been lost.
In this true home
of silence and peace
where hopes have been raised
and lives have been gained.
Worry not, dear;
the ghosts of the past and
the shadows of the present and
the phantoms of the future
shall never harm you.
I'll be here by your side,
watching carefully,
wishing fervently,
praying to the gods if they are there
about you,
and how I wish
you'll be by my side—
not forever because it's not true,
but anything…
Anything close to that word."
On top of the labyrinth
of immaculate white sheets
and pillows and blankets
she shifts slowly and
looks at him with a smile.
"I'll be fine, I know
because you are there.
you are my source
of strength and
of power.
And gods may not exist
and wishes may not come true
but with you by my side
(right now)
I know I'll live
(until whoever knows when)
And be with you."
Pain was always there—
reflected in his eyes,
reflected in her features.
But he does not give up.
Every day he makes his way
to her room,
bringing her tulips
without fail.
In front of her room
he stops,
composes himself,
keeps his gait straight,
his face stoic and calm.
As he enters,
his façade falters
because he sees her
wincing in pain,
trying hard not to cry
(Because even crying hurts)
But he does not give up.
He lays the flowers on the table
beside her bed and
secretly wishes
they'll give her strength.
he holds her hand
(her small, small hand)
and squeezes it gently.
She smiles in reply and
drifts off to sleep,
peacefully and calmly.
As though she weren't in pain.
It was in moments like this
that he finds strength and hope.
All the more
he does not give up.
Every day she wonders
how she got to be so lucky.
How she is now
In a room of pure white
Looking out at the sunset—
the masterpiece
of blotches of paint: red, yellow, orange
and white on the infinity
that was the sky—
created by the same hands
that made her
and saved her,
someone so weak and fragile
and powerless.
Tomorrow she will leave
the white walls,
and white bed,
and white table,
and white chair.
And then she'll see
the world
in its color and its beauty.