What I think about at 3 am
I only have one request.
Die in my arms.
Let me try my hardest to pause your bleeding through my fingertips, and allow the palms of my hands to be soaked in your blood. Let me try to be your hero this one time.
I need to look into your eyes one last time. I need to be sure that what we experienced was indeed real and not some beautifully tragic nightmare I will soon awake from, once you’re gone.
Let my hair fall in your face as droplets of salt drip like a fall, coffee shop rain from my eyes onto your cheeks.
And in that moment
I’ll lose my ability to form a coherent sentence. I’ll lose my empathy to comfort you. Instead I’ll sob like a hopeless romantic or a war hero or a kindergarten teacher or a playwright or an ambassador to France or a girl with her love fading away in her arms because we are all the same in that moment.
Don’t you dare die without me there. How dare you forsake me of your last breath and your last sigh and your last glances and the last rise and fall of your chest. How dare you leave me here. How dare you not leave one sip of poison nor one bullet nor one sharp edge nor one failing organ nor one of your last words with which to end myself in turn.
How dare you not let me hold you. How dare you not let me cry over you. How dare you not let me avenge you. How dare you.
How dare you walk into my life and walk right out leaving me with only memories.
How dare you close the door
and how dare I lock it.
How dare you throw away the key
without first letting me kiss
the cold worn metal.
