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Somewhat sad little story thing that I wrote during one of my many mood swings. Haven't figured out a title for it just yet.

Today was their seventieth anniversary, and he was dying.

They were old, and it was to be expected, but she could hardly breathe and he couldn’t stand knowing that she was in pain. “It’ll be alright,” she told him, wiping the tears from her eyes. They were blue-green today, like the ocean, the way they always got when she was upset. When she’d been crying. “I’ll be alright.” They both knew that was a lie, but he let her get away with it. “I’m so tired,” he murmured, looking over at her with an exhausted smile. She was in the hospital bed beside him, where she’d been curled up since two days ago when he’d suddenly collapsed and had to be brought here.
“That’s okay. Go to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” They kissed, hands clasped together, and she knew it was the last time she’d ever be curled up beside him like this. “I love you,” he said, and she smiled despite the pain. “I know,” she replied, in the same tone she always used to tell him that she loved him. He closed his eyes and smiled, and she laid her head on his chest, clenching her eyes shut and wishing this wasn’t how things had to go. His heart--that big, strong heart of his that her own had been beating in time to for all these years--stuttered, and with a slow thud, fell silent.
The tears came, then, pouring down her face as the monitor flatlined and screamed his death for everyone to hear. He was gone, and she felt like she was breaking into thousands of pieces--the sound of shattering glass resounding in her head to accompany the feeling. Seventy years of her life had revolved around this man and the family they’d created together. Seventy years, and he was gone now.