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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Death · #877746
The fragility of life.
Another day, another hour, another minute, another second.
Another blip appears on the heart monitor.
When will the day come when it is silent?
I must leave you now, the day has ended; but I will be back tomorrow.

The sun has risen, a new day beckons. Doesn't anyone care that you lay dying?
Hustle bustle, here and there, everyone has to be somewhere.
Doesn't anyone care that you're still there?

I walk down the corridor towards your room, a small gift in hand.
Doctors and nurses fill the corridor that is lined with carts and beds.
Medicine and cleaners is all I can smell, the corrider ceiling is so low that I feel almost trapped.
A great big picture window fills the wall at the end of the hall.
I have seen it everyday, but never with such clarity.

I step into your room, the TV is on, the scent of flowers mixes with all the others.
You smile when you see me, and I return it, handing you the gift.
"How are you?" I ask, "Did you have a good night?"
You silently nod, and smile at my gift.
Small talk, but every moment is special.

The day has ended, I rise to leave, promising to return tomorrow. I tell you I love you.
I pause at the doorway, turning to look at you one last time.
You whisper, "I love you", and then close your eyes.
The heart monitor blips, but doesn't stop. A continuous hum fills the room.
Tears spring to my eyes, as I hear the sound that I have dreaded.

It seems like only yesterday that we knew each other.
How could the end have come so soon?
I emerge from the room, and walk down the corridor.
Everyone has a job to do, everyone has a place to be, and no one seems to care.

A part of me has died, and I will never be the same.
You filled our lives with such joy and happiness.
Another day, another hour, another minute, another second.
Tomorrow the world will still be the same.
Hustle bustle, here and there. Everyone has to be somewhere.
Doesn't anyone care that you're not here?
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