I walk into the hospital today,
And I do not see your family.
I see your friends,
I see the one who did this to you.
I look at him with tearful eyes,
And he hugs me,
And today he does not smell of alcohol,
Or addiction,
Only sorrow.
I walk into the waiting room,
And see no one there,
And I hear no machines,
And I run.
I run past the nurses, who watch me with sad eyes,
I run past the doctors, who know too much.
I run past the patients who move too slowly,
And I run past the doors which contain your body.
I see your face, bruised, broken,
I see your hair, woven with debris.
I see the doctors leaving the room,
And I realize, the tube is gone,
And you are breathing on your own.
Small breaths,
Stale breaths,
Breaths that mean everything.
And I clutch your hand and I sob again,
And you open your eyes, and I hide my excitement.
You reach up to touch my face, and I hold your hand there for a moment,
And I let the tears fall,
And your assailant comes in,
And you begin to cry too.
Your eyes start to wander, aimlessly,
In different directions.
You are gone now, and you will rest.
And I will be back tomorrow,
And I will hold your hand,
And maybe I won't cry then.
And maybe my breaths will mean something.
And maybe I will live.
