through it all when I'd cling beside you sobbing
you'd shrug it off with the quietest I'm still
here
~ "Here"
I had a doctor's appointment today. My T-Cells are down and my viral load is up. "Here's a new prescription to add to your dailies, Mr. Davis, and try to limit your physical activity for a few days." New day, new doctor, new pills, same old thing.
You and I walked home. You didn't say anything, Mark, but you didn't have to. You held onto my sleeve like a lifeline and that said enough. I dropped you off at our doorstep, and when I didn't follow you in you gave me a questioning look. "I'm gonna go…" I said and waved the prescription at you. You just nodded and walked upstairs without a word.
When I returned later, not looking forward to the week of nausea this new medication was sure to bring, I found you crying on the floor, jacket half hanging off your hunched and heaving back. You latched on to me and kept sobbing.
"I don't know if I can do it," you said, tightening your grip on me. "I don't know if I can lose you."
And now you've finally spoken and I'm somewhat stunned, unsure what to do, so I wrap you up in my arms and hold you till the tears subside. "I'm still here," I whisper to you, and kiss your hairline. "I'm still here."
