I didn’t feel the raw, frosty breeze that night; I knew it was chilly, I could see Megan's hot breath, hitting the cold air. As ever I stayed awake, keeping watch over the girl I loved. The pain in my head, had all but gone, abated, disappeared. I felt alive again, as I did all those months ago, before tragedy struck. Laying at the entrance to the underground, we were unnoticeable, faceless, blending in to the city streets, as never before. For the first time since we ended up homeless, sleeping in door ways, Megan slept, perfectly; undisturbed, without confrontation. I sat there, as Megan hibernated, curled up against my side, imagining our life together, in our own place; a warm fire burning, clean clothes, food in the cupboards; holding each other tightly, sleeping in a comfy bed. My eyes closed, I was there, away from the streets, far from the life I was used to. I was living again!
Dawn broke, on a crisp winters morning. I couldn’t feel the chill; I felt warm, at peace and finally happy. I could see Magan, still asleep, still that sparkle in her eyes, still as beautiful as she ever was. I looked at her face from above; looking down at us both. For the first time, I saw the truth, in front of me. I wasn’t with Magan any more, not in the literal sense; I had left her side that night. I couldn’t feel her cheek next to mine, the touch of her hand on my leg and her hair on my face; I was wide awake, like never before. Magan was laying in a green field of flowers, pulsating with energy, vivid technicolour; abstract. I pointed my finger, towards the love of my life, sleeping soundly. The picture in view, rippled, obscured, as a stone falls into water. I reached out to touch Megan's arm, I felt nothing. I was there, as an observer, looking in at what once was. My heart felt deeper, my touch, more distant.
I died that night, quietly in my sleep, there was no family surrounding my bed, no pain from the bruises that adorned my body; no hospital machines, no noise, no drama, just me drifting away, holding the person I loved close. The torture and torment I felt in life had gone; in death it had dissipated into the memories of the past; agonising reminiscences, that had all but gone. I never imagined my passing to be like this: always believing my ending would be more arduous than life itself. I couldn’t hold Megan any more, but I knew now, she would also finally be at peace. Losing someone close is harrowing and daunting, but in time, the disquiet will pass, and life will go on; new experiences ahead, more memories to share and stories to tell.
I remained with Megan, as she fought back the tears, trying to shake my body back into life. Uncontrollably, inconsolable despair, as my body was removed. I saw myself placed in a cold morgue, a funeral paid for by the state; just Megan mourning my passing. I stayed with her, day after day; no longer on the streets, cared for in the shelter we rejected together, a short time before. Somewhere warm she could finally lay her head. Still broken with grief, but getting stronger each day.
I was with the person I loved, for a very long time, I watched her grow and with determination, strength of mind and willpower, achieve all her dreams. She went to college, studied harder each day, got a job, in the hospital, we had both run from, on that cold November afternoon. She cared for others, as she cared for me, devoting her life to those in need. Megan held their hand, as she held mine, gave them hope, an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. Her life on the streets had taught her much. She was a survivor in a harsh world. Megan lived because I died, one life for the aspirations, and achievements of another, willingly given to see her grow.
This is my final day with Megan, the day I had been waiting for, the day we got our own flat together; finally Magan achieved what we both had wanted. I shared the day she moved into her new home; the reason I stuck around, to see her finally happy, sanguine away from the streets. During that first night in her new home, she slept with the lamp on, street lights illuminating the dark. Magan still had to overcome the demons that haunted her, the nightmares that still languished, but on this, our first and last night together, she knew I was there, watching over her, as she slept soundly in her bed, making sure she was safe from the night ahead.
Dawn broke, on a crisp winters morning. I couldn’t feel the chill; I felt warm, at peace and finally happy. I could see Magan, still asleep, still that sparkle in her eyes, still as beautiful as she ever was. I looked at her face from above; looking down at us both. For the first time, I saw the truth, in front of me. I wasn’t with Magan any more, not in the literal sense; I had left her side that night. I couldn’t feel her cheek next to mine, the touch of her hand on my leg and her hair on my face; I was wide awake, like never before. Magan was laying in a green field of flowers, pulsating with energy, vivid technicolour; abstract. I pointed my finger, towards the love of my life, sleeping soundly. The picture in view, rippled, obscured, as a stone falls into water. I reached out to touch Megan's arm, I felt nothing. I was there, as an observer, looking in at what once was. My heart felt deeper, my touch, more distant.
I died that night, quietly in my sleep, there was no family surrounding my bed, no pain from the bruises that adorned my body; no hospital machines, no noise, no drama, just me drifting away, holding the person I loved close. The torture and torment I felt in life had gone; in death it had dissipated into the memories of the past; agonising reminiscences, that had all but gone. I never imagined my passing to be like this: always believing my ending would be more arduous than life itself. I couldn’t hold Megan any more, but I knew now, she would also finally be at peace. Losing someone close is harrowing and daunting, but in time, the disquiet will pass, and life will go on; new experiences ahead, more memories to share and stories to tell.
I remained with Megan, as she fought back the tears, trying to shake my body back into life. Uncontrollably, inconsolable despair, as my body was removed. I saw myself placed in a cold morgue, a funeral paid for by the state; just Megan mourning my passing. I stayed with her, day after day; no longer on the streets, cared for in the shelter we rejected together, a short time before. Somewhere warm she could finally lay her head. Still broken with grief, but getting stronger each day.
I was with the person I loved, for a very long time, I watched her grow and with determination, strength of mind and willpower, achieve all her dreams. She went to college, studied harder each day, got a job, in the hospital, we had both run from, on that cold November afternoon. She cared for others, as she cared for me, devoting her life to those in need. Megan held their hand, as she held mine, gave them hope, an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. Her life on the streets had taught her much. She was a survivor in a harsh world. Megan lived because I died, one life for the aspirations, and achievements of another, willingly given to see her grow.
This is my final day with Megan, the day I had been waiting for, the day we got our own flat together; finally Magan achieved what we both had wanted. I shared the day she moved into her new home; the reason I stuck around, to see her finally happy, sanguine away from the streets. During that first night in her new home, she slept with the lamp on, street lights illuminating the dark. Magan still had to overcome the demons that haunted her, the nightmares that still languished, but on this, our first and last night together, she knew I was there, watching over her, as she slept soundly in her bed, making sure she was safe from the night ahead.
