frayed ends
by ~crashcoursewomb“No, please god... not her...” He whimpers, his eyes moored to her flimsy, stranded body. He can see her heart palpitate, pummeling her exterior at such a rate, bruising her surface. His voice cracks, he can’t stand the sight of her trembling.
“No more... please.” His knees buckle. He reaches to comfort her fragile boned hands, so cold. he wants to kiss her knuckles, bring back the colour to her skin but his fierce breath hardly impacts. He feels so remote though she is so close, so close but not close enough.
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Saturday nights were meant to be spent huddled on the couch, her in his warm grasp. Listening to his heart race, rising and falling with his chest. Laughing and crying over the clichéd love movies playing so late. Sunday mornings were meant to consist of tangled limbs and intwined fingers and warm kisses on her forehead and slight rays of sunshine dancing on their naked toes. Tangled sheets and tousled locks of hair.
Saturday nights were not meant to be spent like this. Muffled cries and blood shed. Sirens and muted crowds. Sunday mornings were not meant to consist of sympathetic eyes and flowers and white washed walls and bleeping. fuck bleeping, he had all the reassurance that her heart was faintly throbbing just by the flush in her cheeks. But there was no flush of rose in her cheeks, there was no life whatsoever flickering through her hushed, statue like face. He wished it would just stop. The beeping to him was false hope. Although that did not stop him praying for her to peel her eyelids apart and reveal her sienna sphere which he dreamt of each night.
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Monday to friday were meant to be school days, He would be there on her doorstep 7.32 sharp. everyday. Waiting to walk her to school, waiting to hear her dreams and how dinner was last night. But this Monday to Friday was spent inside hospital walls.
Her mum was always there, half awake with purpled hue eyes. She was worried sick. He was always there too, with fresh lilacs and daises. He was there with shoelace bracelets and tired eyes. He was sick with more than worry. The doctors weren’t even sure what the hell was wrong with her. Nothing was wrong with her, she was just fine.
She is beautiful and undisturbed. She is just resting he repeats. She will wake up soon and they won’t need to feed her through tubes soon.
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He is always in the hospital, always awaiting results. He is contemplating visiting her or not. He’s not sure how much more he can take, Today he brought an addition of glow in the dark stars, just incase she awakes to a starless night and needs reassurance that it’ll be okay. She needs to wish on these stars, he hopes he hasn’t worn them out.
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His visits have decreased although her breathing is steady and stronger now. She is going to awake soon they predict. She’s been here for almost a month. He last visited on Wednesday night. He sat on the side of her bed, they’ve taken some of the tubes away he noticed. That must be a good thing, he consoles himself. Her eyes flickered and her fingers locked around his. She managed to whisper something along the lines of, “Remember wednesdays.”He was about to call the nurse when he decided against it. Let her rest he thought. This is an improvement. She’ll be awake tomorrow.
She wasn’t.
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He told the doctor about how she managed a few words that night, the doctor didn’t seem as shocked as he should have. He nodded and noted something down and left.
He sat at her windowsill and recollected memories. “Wednesdays...”
On Wednesdays they would take a detour on their way home. In Autumn they would go to the park, rest in a pile of raked leaved under a bare tree. He would share his theories on how he thought she inherited her chocolate waves and strands of sunlight bleached hair. He would tell her about how she managed to be so effortlessly gorgeous and she would in return tangle her ebony fingers through his mousey hair and create heat between their lips. They would stay there watching the sunset, sharing algebra answers and quizzing each other on animal biology.
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The atmosphere became more chilly as the week droned on and the girl in the bed's cheekbones became more defined. Her body was refusing food. He came to visit again the next Wednesday. He brought with him a golden leaf and recited stories of Wednesdays to her. Her lips trembled and she could almost manage a smile.
almost
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"Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts."
- a sign hanging in Albert Einstein's office at Princeton
#Scribblers-Anonymous
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sorry, what?
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Once Upon A Time, love was a contract forever, hate was a fight to the death, honor was a currency, and a man's word was taken as sure as gold. That time is long since gone. The End.
that was very kind of you to say.
It's really appreciated. ^^
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sorry, what?
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Give me your pain, your regrets and your fears. And I'll show the meaning of loss.
Got a group? Want it featured? Drop me a note, or leave a comment! [link]
I'm so glad it's touched you like that. ^^
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sorry, what?
Keep writing and keep creating.
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Come check us out at =DailyLitDeviations! We look forward to hearing from you!
We are dedicated to promoting the work of poets, storytellers, lyricists, article writers, and anyone else who works with poetry or prose right here on deviantART.
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sorry, what?
just one thing "the girl in the beds cheekbones". I think you mean "the girl in the bed's cheekbones".
But other than that, good gravy, it's amazing, beautiful, charming and damned near perfect. I love love love it.
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I really should be studying.
active in:
*DailyLitDeviations ~alphabetspawn *Critique-It
I'm sorry it took me a while to get back to you.
and yeah, thanks for catching that.
awh, thank you once again.
so much.
it really does mean so much.
and for the DLD suggestion. (:
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sorry, what?
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