Tell it to me again.

My heart beats but it’s fading. It’s bubbling in my ears, and I know you can hear it too. You wouldn’t be looking at me like that if you couldn’t hear it too.

Tell it to me again. I tried so hard to say the words. My lips moved to form them, but no sound came out. I could feel the wet warmth on my face, trickling down my chin, as my mouth opened, and knew it wouldn’t be any use.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine.”

Your words are fast and they’re so far away. Black starts crawling into my vision and I can feel myself being pulled into an aggressive sleep. I hear your last sobbing “I love you” and everything goes dark.

But if I could’ve, I would’ve told you…

Tell it to me again, how much you need me. Tell it to me again, how you fell in love with me. How you wanted to ask me out long before I knew who you were. How you smiled and sang your favourite love songs on your way home after our first date. Tell it to me again, how badly you wanted to marry me, to have kids with me. The way you feel every time I walk in the room. The way you were anxious to have me meet your parents. The way you never really got completely comfortable in front of my dad. Tell it to me again, the plans we had. The plans we made. The kids we wanted. The schools we chose, the house we dreamed of, the future vacations we made a list of.

Tell it to me, again, so I can fight harder. So I can push myself harder. Tell it to me again. Give me the reasons to fight, again.

But my mouth wouldn’t speak, and my eyes wouldn’t open.

And I left you alone. Cold. And weeping.