In the dim green light I watch you breathe. Your chest rises and falls, your white thermal shirt gives and stretches in turn. Breathe, just breathe.
McCoy says you may never be the same; this is the new normal.
I wish you peace. I wish you sleep sans night terrors; sans grief that both wakes and mortifies you. I wish for languid nights where I am no longer your lifeline.
I wish for those careless nights of abandon and discovery; moments in the dark when your mask could safely be set aside.
Breathe for me. I am suffocating beside you.