it is dark. only a greenish, machine glow penetrates the darkness of a breaking heart. she doesn't even know what time it really is. she doesn't care. it's a sickening teacup ride. spinning the wheel in the center of her brain that makes time go faster means that the pit in her stomach grows larger. nausea hits as the inevitable draws near. nearer.
quietly a body moves in the room. not the body she wants to move. a nurse notes vitals, not nearly vital for life. the pen scratches down the information. she hates ballpoints from then on. their sound evokes grief.
next to her is the love of her life. helpless as she to stop the inevitable. tears are not enough. they never were. even that sign of life has ceased. helplessness magnified will crash onto itself. the teacup spins again.
a door cracks open flooding light where it is not welcome. if the darkness is going to swallow her whole, then let it do its work. get out! whispers fade. footsteps fade. time fades. everything dies.
except the grief inside that gains a life of its own, parasitically draining all that is meant to live. sorrow roars within her ears. can you really hear the sound a heart makes when it shatters? the glowing beeps yes. but slowly, teasing out the answer. having the last word. turn them off! she can't stand the beeps. ballpoints and beeps, new archenemies to life.
small hand within hers. fingers deathly blue, but here the darkness is a friend, hiding truth. the pulse within her thumb seeks its mate, intertwined, but no answer responds. months to come of phantom pain, nerves remembering pressure of small fingers, seeking and finding no flesh.
one last breath followed by two, waiting for one more. that never comes. tears without wet flow. how is that? darkness has its sounds. grief has its consummation. life without life begins.