Death

I wake up from what seems like a long sleep. My body is too tired to move. Before I open my eyes, I stretch my hands to reach out to my bedside stand so as to grab my spectacles. It had become a habit almost, not allowing myself to see with my weak vision. It had worsened throughout the years. I can feel how weak I have become. My hands brush past the stand, wait it was a table, unfamiliar texture. I knock down something, which wakes up someone sitting on a chair beside my bed. I open my eyes, I can barely make out my mom from the mirage of her familiarity. She tells me everything is okay which clearly implies that it is not. I ask for my spectacles. She hands them over to me. The first thing I notice is her face. Dried tears. I caress my weak hands over her soft skin.

"Why are you crying?"

She burst into sobs of tears and fears. She runs out, leaving me alone. Is it right to leave a dying person alone? Dying. It doesn't matter anymore. I  still remember how I screamed when they all stepped into the room to see me. They refused to leave when I asked them kindly. I pleaded under the blankets, the thin piece of cloth that separated me from them all. Separated all memories of now and then. I could sense the shadow of a hand reaching out to strip me of my sense of separation. I screamed with all the strength I had, frantically moving my whole body.

"Please don't see me like this."

I have always believed that the one benefit of dying is you can witness how much you are loved. For that same reason , I had always fancied death. The power to unite people simply by the idea of one of them not existing tomorrow. It does wonders. And that is exactly how I felt when I saw you stepping into the room. A wondrous miracle. You sat beside me and held my hands. Oh, how you used to keep your head on my hands and sleep, telling it was the best pillow. I could see you holding back tears, the reflection of the glistening water, ready to wash your skin and maybe the bad days. Oh, how I held back my tears when we walked back home and you said you couldn't love me again, because you had given up on everything. You hugged me with every inch of your soul and I felt it. I knew now in whose arms I wanted to lie breathing my last breath. I knew it all along, I guess. I was too scared of it not happening and dying with another regret. You cried and cried, and I fell asleep on your arms, my abode in this messed up world.

"Don't give up on me."

I woke up from what seems like a long sleep.