The Selfish Side of Someone Else's Death

He sat there
motionless
upon his bed.
The pillows looked more plump
than he did.
The blinds let little light linger
upon his fragile figure.

He was barely awake
but he knew I was there.

‘When I die,’
he told me,
‘that will be beautiful.’
I stood confused and lost,
unsure of what to say.
The only thought within my head:
‘I’ve never been to a funeral.’

I hope he won’t be my first.
My virgin bedside vigil.

I clambered for a towel
or an excuse to dry my tears,
the salt soaking my skin.
He took a breath
and the dryness gripped his throat.
He choked, hoarsely,
on bottled air.

Every breath sounded spoken.
Every breath said ‘Secrets’.

I looked him in the eyes
and I noticed the blue had faded.
They used to be azure
but now they were grey.
I dropped the towel,
forgetting myself,
and said…

‘But I’d miss you.’