Your weight shifted on the edge of my bed and woke me in to a slight state of panic. I turned to see who the source of the weight belonged to. It was you, with your slight smile and a gentle hand resting on my hip over the top of my dramatic mountain of quilts and blankets sheltering me from the cold that I always complained so much about.

My heart beat quickened to see you, relief swept over me like the comfort of an old friend.

Your voice always like a song, one that always spoke reason in to my life, "It's okay..." Your voice trailed off a little coolly. "you should try to sleep some..." You instructed me in a way that made me know you were just looking out for me. 

You got up, you looked out the window and surveyed the stars as though you were looking for some guidance. Y 

I tried to close my eyes and drift off back to sleep like you suggested, but I was restless. Instead, I watched you move about my room as you once used to. You glanced back at me, closing my curtains to shut out the light that was peeking in to my room. 

"What's wrong?" You asked me, your eyes showing me their great concern, "You look so sad... what is it?" 

But it was nothing that I could place my finger on. My heart was consumed with conflict - something wasn't right but how to verbalise it? 

I just wanted you to talk to me, to lay with me, to explain to me why you were about to leave… I didn’t have the power to ask though, maybe I never believed it would really happen.

I sat up, bringing my knees close to my chest, looking at you with a hint of resentment but mostly with dreams that were darkened to nightmares. You reached out to me, igniting that tiny ember of a flame that glowed in my heart for you. “It’s okay…” you said, as if you knew what I was feeling. Your dark eyes swam their way in to my own and again you told me a little more gently to get some rest. 

I snaked my way back down in to the safety of my cocoon of blankets. I let the words dance around my tongue a little daringly before I found the courage to expel them from my reluctant lips. “Don’t go Michael…”

You swallowed hard and gave me a brave smile that warmed me through. “Don’t go,” I repeated, “I don’t want to let go of you…please”

The smile faded slowly from your pink lips as you resumed your position on the edge of my bed. Your cool forefingers caressed my skin that was heated with a growing distress. “It’s okay.” You told me again. “You’ll be fine. I promise.”

Tears sprang to my eyes and with it came the weight of the world that I wasn’t ever used to carrying alone. The confidence you used in your deceitful words pierced my heart like a poisoned thorn. I felt angry, but I never wanted that to be the last emotion you left me with. I didn’t want you to worry about me anymore, so I did as you said. I closed my eyes.

I felt you kiss my cheek, your hand on my shoulder for support. I started drifting off as you sat with me until you were satisfied that I had gone back to sleep. 

I was so alert that I could have heard a twig snap and as I heard your footsteps getting farther and farther away, I shot awake with a palpitating heart and a sense of panic. 

I called out to you, I begged you not to go. "Please come back, you can't leave...."

Hot tears fell effortlessly down my face, mapping their way down my cheeks as I sat up in utter despair and devastation. I begged you to come back. I wanted to warn you that if you left, there was no turning back to me, there was no coming back. You couldn't you'd be gone. "Please..." I pleaded, "Michael... you can't." 

You turned from the hall to give me one last glance. Your face shared with me a tormented smile, one that showed your own devastation but it was masked with the desire for bravery and courageousness.

You told me one last time that everything was okay. 

"But if you go..." I warned you without finishing my sentence.

"I know..." you replied with a smile that told me you were at peace with his decision. "Get some sleep..." you directed me one last time as if you were offering more of your life-giving advice.

I dissolved in to sobs for you, feeling unfamiliar in my solitude. I spoke a little softer, asking you to come back, willing it — but it was too late because you were already gone.