They told me Dean was in a coma.
They didn't know how long.
They just knew it wasn't going to be for a while.
~
Three months had passed. I sat beside him everyday from three to six.
The beeping on the machine was slow, but constant.
I brought my guitar on weekdays and I'd sit beside him and play.
His marks cleared up, eventually. He looked relatively normal.
I'd sit and strum my guitar day after day. My fingers were raw and numb.
The constant beeping was basically my orbit. My life revolved around it. I dragged myself around the house.
It was so empty.
So dark.
So cold.
So quiet.
Beep.
The beeping of those machines echoed in my mind. It sounded very ten seconds or so.
Beep.
I hated it. This wasn't how it was supposed to be! We were going to grow up together.
