There’s something about the way she looks at me that has me going weak at the knees and heartbroken at the same time.
She’s so beautiful, it hurts.
What hurts more is how painfully oblivious she is to the very fact. And how nothing I ever do can convince her otherwise.
Actually, that’s not true. I think what hurts the most is how she wants, no, needs me, but I don’t know how to help her. She’s withering away before my very eyes; receding, disappearing within herself, and it wrenches my heart to watch her so hopelessly lost.
I can see it in her eyes.
She’s lost all hope, even the optimism she was known to hold on to every time things went awry. All of it, gone. I don’t know what to do. It’s been a while since she’s been this way, but lately she’s been declining at a rapid pace.
I fear I will lose her.
We made love the other day. At least, I think we did. She had a faraway look on her face. It seemed different. She acted different, felt different. We were different. Something didn’t quite feel right.
But of course it didn’t feel right, you blithering fool.
You lost her the day she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. Terminal. No hope for a cure. How could you believe her when she said nothing would change?
She was going to die. Of course everything was going to change.
And as the doctor walked towards me with what had to be the most melancholic of expressions I’d ever seen on any doctor, I feared it already had.
Started a little after 4:50 am, I should think. Been having trouble sleeping. Nausea and pain is… not exactly my thing, even after almost two years of living with it now.
I’ve got a question for those who may dare to venture an answer:
What is worse; embodying the person people expect you to be, or failing everyone’s expectations for you?