Bam, it's all over.

Just a little something-or-other. Take it as you will.

I get down nice and close to the hard wood floors. They are cold in the middle of winter, and the temperature being set at 62 isn't helping their case. I push my cheek into them and feel my body heat escape from my skin and warm the wood panels. The knots in the wood are tight and shimmery, with an opalescent gleam from the finish. From here I watch the grain ebb and flow around the knots and to the end of the plank. It halts abruptly, but starts again in a new position on the next plank.

I listen to my breathing, and feel my body rise and fall against the ground. I can feel the residue of dirt at my fingertips. Each sprawled out far from the last. I'm waiting for you to get down to my level and look me in the eyes. You'd see how green they are, and make some comment about them being as deep as the Amazon Forests. I'd smile and blush, and wipe the tears from my eyes. You won't do that, though. I'm too close to the ground, you find it dirty and unappealing.

Big globs of salty water well up in the corners of my eyes I can feel them trickling across the bridge of my nose. The sound they make when they hit the floor is loud enough to wake the dead.

I'm trying my best to stifle my sobs so you won't hear them. You'd ask what was wrong, but I won't tell you.. You couldn't understand it anyways. Instead I'll lay here, watching the lines in the planks come to an end and start again. It reminds me of life. It begins somewhere along the plank, and churns along life's bevy of knicks, then BAM! It's all over.

I'm laying here crying as quietly to myself as possible, thinking about how terrible it is to have fallen in love with a dying man. I've known that you are dying, but that doesn't make it any easier. Really, it just makes all of this harder. I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to give you up, but I'm no psychic. I could be wrong. But even my weak attempt at keeping myself sane and coherent through all of this isn't helping. I'm making it harder for myself. You're making it harder for me. I'm okay with that, though. I'm still in love with you, even though you're hurting me more than anyone has ever hurt me before. I think I'm okay with it because I know it is what you want. Not only that, but I know you've had this planned far longer than you have known me. Also, I can't stop you anyways... So why bother?

There is something funny, about the way you've taken a liking to me. I don't quite understand it. I'm not exactly the type I would imagine you going for. I think you're losing interest. I think it's happening more quickly than you think. What happens if you decide you love someone else? I'm nervous. I'm scared. I'm not okay with feeling like my life is a conspiracy theory against me.

I'm growing. I'm learning. I'm adapting. I can feel my life changing ever-so-slightly. You still make me happy. I still love you. I still love you.