On This Bed

I don't really know how to explain this poem, everyone will see it in a different way.

He sits
At the edge of the stiff bed
My eyes are closed
He is silently crying
I can feel his presence
I can hear him
He thinks I’m asleep
I do no regret my choice
I am ready
But he regrets his choice
Of leading me
To this bed
He sits
At the edge of my bed
His tears
Will not heal me.
He speaks in a whisper.
He reached out and
Fluffed my pillow,
Straightened my sheets,
Refilled my glass of water.
Then he took my hand.