Random Writing

She

She was everything and more.

She was a poem, made of words that wrap and weave around themselves to for the celestial being that she was. She was my world.

And when she left she took my heart with her, my voice refused to work around the lump in my throat and I couldn't bring myself to ask her to stay. Of course, she was trying. Trying to hear my silence through the rhythmic throb of her heart in her ears and piercing beeps of the machine next to her.

She didn't want to go, not one bit. As she cradled my heart in the palm of her hand her lips curled up. Her eyes filled with that same amusement from before the incident. She was beautiful. She was everything. She was mine and I was hers, she knew that. Just like how she knew her leaving was killing me and, far more literally, her.

"Remember when we met?" Her voice danced through the room like pixies, jumping and twirling with each syllable. Her voice crackled and burned, a candle flame, and despite the scratches and croaks in her voice, it was still beautiful. Like her. The memory was embarrassing. In a small cafe during a storm, I spilled my latte on her.

She didn't mind, she just giggled as I vigorously wiped her shirt with all the tissues I could find.

I wished, desperately, that I could wipe the stain on her heart away like the spilled coffee, but like back then, it would refuse to come out. Her lips curled down and she went to speak, but words refused to leave. She coughed and spluttered, violent convulses shook her body to its core and I panicked.

This was it, she was leaving.

"I want you to remember me," her voice was forced, pushed through the confines of her throat, "I need-"

"No," my words shocked her, "people only say that when they plan on leaving and-" I was cut off by my own sob and my voice turned soft, all confidence gone, "and I can't live with you gone.."

She smiled. That was all; she smiled at me as another coughing fit shook her body.

I couldn't help, I knew that, but it wouldn't stop me from trying. And all I could do was hold her. My voice was lost yet again to the wad of dryness in my throat and I held her to my chest. She was leaving, I had been warned over and over that this would happen but as I stood with her ear pressed to my heart it didn't feel real.

As I pulled her against me I felt the shallow rattle of her body with each weakening breath, I felt each devastating cough and even her weak heart beating.

She was everything and more to me.

She held my heart in the palm of her hand, and as her life was coaxed from her body, she took my heart with her.

She was mine and I, hers.

I loved her.

She was everything and more.