For You

A Dream For You

Here's the third letter. Hope you ebjoy@ :]

Dear Kenji,

I feel asleep last night thinking of you. Thinking if you would even think of visiting if I ever was in a coma. I dreamt that during the months and months that I was unconscious you stayed by my side, holding my hand, reading to me, never leaving unless you needed to. Not letting anyone in, not Ashley, not my family, not even the doctors. I dreamt that you cried because I wouldn’t wake up, because the last thing you said to me ended our friendship. It reminded of the short story that Cryaotic read, “It Hurts A Bit” by Conbz. I imagined the doctor coming in to the room while you wept quietly by my bedside, telling you that you should leave, that you shouldn’t be there when it happened.

Whatever “it” was, it made you cry even harder and you refused to leave, so two men had to come and drag you out of the room kicking and screaming for me to wake up. You would come back later and sit on the edge of my bed, still crying, but silently. You would look at my unconscious form and start crying harder and harder until you were practically screaming.

You then hit me. Slapped my face again and again, and again, harder each time, screaming at me to please wake up, until the men came back and tried to take you away again, but you were resisting too much, so they called in four others and dragged you out once more.

Two of the men stayed and talked and injected something into my IV. Eventually, the beep, beep, beep, of the machine connected to my heart slowed down, and slowed down,until it beeped no more. You would storm into the room, and see my lifeless body, the machine no longer beating and you dropped to the floor, weeping because you would never get to see my gold eyes again, or the fake smile I used to put on every day. You wept because you would never get to say you were sorry for leaving, sorry for saying what you did.

I know you probably aren’t sorry, that you would never not leave my side. I know that you wouldn’t visit, that you wouldn’t cry or read to me while holding my hand. I know that you probably won’t ever read this, or any, of my letters, because I’ll never send them. If I did, I know you wouldn’t respond if you did read them. I just hope that one day, if I ever do go into a coma, that you at least visit once to say goodbye.

With much Hope and Love,

Saya.

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