lue

A breath, a mere breath, is my current top goal, its all I ever strive for, a breath.
My red balloon, and your red balloon, my red umbrella, and your red umbrella, I hadn’t ever felt such joy, I never had. Until our umbrellas and balloons met.
I wanted to save you.
But here is everything, and here is nothing, here I am next to your bed, next to you, or next to what was you. With my unlit cigarette, holding your fingertips, or what was your fingertips.
I wanted you to struggle, to fight, and you were smiling, I should have known.

The nurse called it, and walked away, gently, slowly, as if a gentle way of saying “time of death 3:30” can make it any less tragically hollow.
There is a moment, a moment parallel to nothingness, filled with screams and sounds of pleading.
Pleading for what, pleading to who?
Here I sit, struggling for a breath, because a breath is all I ever hope for.