If I could walk I'd take her anywhere, I'd carry her and I'd talk for her. Where we're going there's no need for words. She knows how much words fail. Every croak of her throat and every wheeze that comes out is living proof of the fact. Though I suppose I should be at least thankful in some degree, because if she wasn't so badly off and wasn't in this dirty hospital we would have never met. She makes my weak legs quiver and I try and draw a way to her heart from the tip of my pen and the tip of every letter but she just smiles and I know it's not enough for the girl wrapped in blankets and empty promises.
You never want to be in a hospital where you see the same people day after day. You want them to leave, to go, to feel better. Some part of me believes that her magnetism draws them in and makes their bodies stay weak just so they can hear her croak and see her smile shyly when I laugh in her direction.
She stays in bed and reads about how the earth that is slowly killing her was formed. Somehow she finds a way to smile when the doctors come in and stroke her hair, when all I can do is feel an ocean form in my head that slowly becomes a cloud. I want her in that cloud, I want her to be all that I think of. The good parts, not the parts that will kill her eventually and leave me chained to a bed.
I've thought about how I will never get to walk to her casket. At the very best I may be able to roll over to it. She always writes to me about how her family would pay for the prosthetics, but I am thankful that my pride is too much to accept. If I wasn't here to support her every minute of every day I don't think she would love me as much as she does now, and the space between two hospital beds still feels the length of the Atlantic.
I would climb mountains upon mountains for her, just to scrawl her name at the top in snow so that God himself is the only one who can erase it. I would spawn oceans from dirt and make her see the whole color spectrum for a second so she can see half of how beautiful I think she is. But I need her closer to me and no matter how many times I whisper "Come on!" to her from my bed, she always stays exactly where she is.
