This is based off of the song Pray by Kodaline. Here's the link: http://youtu.be/7tJ6DPRctno
I lie awake in the dead of night. Breathing heavy. Eyes closed shut. Hands clasped together as if I'm trying to grab something, but I've failed.
Perfect picture memories are scatter in my mind. I want nothing more but for them to go away. I can see her still. Her face is still clear in my mind. Like fresh chalk that young children plaster onto the pavement. I can still see that look her in eyes. The sadness, the pain.
Is that what going insane feels like? When it feels like all the walls are closing in, you until your gasping for air? When everything you do or say reminds you of them? Or is this all just in my head?
I always can't help but wonder if she ever thinks of me like I do her. If she lays awake or even if it's all just in her dreams. If she's counting up the days since she left. Because it's hard to imagine that it didn't effect her at all and she's perfectly fine.
The truth is, Margaret Polo broke my heart. Well, broke is an understatement. She shattered it into tiny irreplaceable pieces and crushed them into dust when she walked away.
I didn't scream or yell at her when she left. How could I? Before she left, she told me he truth about herself. She told me that she was dying. Yes, dying. And then she walked out of my life for possible forever.
Dying is such a strange mystery. You can't help but wonder where you are going after. Or if you go anywhere at all. It's hard to think that one day, all your thoughts will stop and you'll become nonexistent on this planet.
The funny thing is, right after she left I stood there in shock. And then I knelt on my knees and began to pray. I haven't prayed since for at least 15 years. I muttered the few I actually remembered over and over again.
Margaret and I were never ones to pray. We laughed at those who did. So why am I bothering now?
I get up off the floor and start to laugh at myself. And then I start to cry. I move sluggishly to the kitchen and reach for the top cabinet where all the hidden alcohol is. I don't even bother with a glass. I take a humongous swig of whatever my hand first grasps.
The alcohol burns going down my raw throat. I grab another bottle of something and throw myself back onto my bed. At this point, I'm sobbing hysterically and take large gulps of alcohol.
I should've stopped her. I should've done something. Anything. But instead, I watched her go like the complete idiot I am. This is all my fault. I should've seen it coming.
She was sick! That doesn't mean she can just leave like that. We could've talked about it.
She said she never wanted to see you again. Well, she was lying. I saw it in her face. She needs me to be with her. She can't do this all by herself.
Realization hits me, and I leap out of bed. My head spins for a couple seconds, most likely from the alcohol, but I ignore it. I dress quickly and put on some shoes. I grab my keys and sprint out of my apartment.
The buildings elevator always takes forever, so I run down the stairs. By the time I reach the ground floor, I'm breathing heavily. I run over to my little, black beat up car. I force the door open and get inside.
As I start driving, I notice that it's raining. God, no. Please stop raining. Whenever it rains, my car usually tends to break down. But instead of the rain stopping, it pours down harder.
I groan as I start to hear the car sputter. I pull it over to the side of the street and then it dies out. I bang my head against the drivers wheel. I curse out loud. I stay like that for a good three minutes or so.
I glance outside and unbuckle. A little rain won't stop me. I get out of my car and start running to where the hospital is. If this was a real emergency where I actually had to get to the hospital, I'd probably be dead by now.
I already know what floor they put her in, so I don't bother talking to the lady at the front desk. My shoes squeak as I walk quickly to the elevator. A janitor glares at me as I make my muddy foot prints appear all over the newly polished floor.
The elevator pings open and I push the button for the 6th floor. I take this time to catch my breath and flick my wet hair out of my face. My clothes are dripping and I try to wring them out.
The elevator opens on the 6th floor and I walk up to the desk. "Margaret Polo."
"Are you family?" She asks as she types something on the computer.
"I'm her husband," I lie.
She glances back up at me. "According to this file, Ms. Polo isn't married."
"We don't like telling anyone about it."
"I'm sorry sir but you have to leave. Only family is allowed."
"Please. I'm all she has left."
The lady sighs. "Room 617."
"Thank you."
She tries to tell me something else, but I just ignore her and rush off. I walk towards the room, thinking about what I'm even going to say to her once I get there. But my brain is muddled and I can't find a good enough excuse besides "I love you. I miss you."
611, 612, 613, 614, and then I find it. The big beige door is the only thing that is blocking me. I take a deep breath and push open the door.
The room is quiet. I look towards the bed. It is empty. The sheets are stripped off and folded neatly on the side. My heart rate immediately speeds up and I can't seem to breathe. The door opens up behind me and a short red headed nurse walks in.
"Melinda said that you'd be in here," she whispers.
"Please, tell me the woman, Margaret Polo, tell me where she is. She was supposed to be in here. She..." I trail off and look at the nurse desperately. Praying silently that she'll tell me that this was all a mistake.
"I'm sorry sir. Margaret passed away this morning."
Emotions overwhelm me. I crumple to the floor.
"She wasn't afraid sir. She wanted to go. She told me that it was her time. She said that this man would try to come and stop her. But he never came. And last night, she was talking in her sleep. I couldn't make out the name, but she kept repeating it and something else too."
I look up at the nurse with tears in my eyes. "What did she say?"
"She said "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."
