Work Text:
It’s a clockwork thing. A routine now.
He knows this.
He's not obligated to be here…but he is.
He wants to be.
He’s here, soaking up every minute.
Every hour. Every second.
Watching the beeping, the breathing
The silence.
It’s hard, watching her.
It’s like the room becomes colder every day.
But he still sits there, in the chair
And he still reads to her.
He doesn’t know if she can hear him.
El said it was dark inside like nothing was there.
But he hopes his words somehow
Add some colour to the synapses of her mind.
He hopes some days she’s dreaming
Good dreams, dreams of them
Dreams of what they were
And what they could have been.
Other times, he knows she’s not.
Miracles come with a cost too.
She’s unable to wither in pain
But he almost wishes she could.
They all come to visit her.
When they can of course.
He’s the constant steady she’s always wanted
And he’ll never change so as she’s here.
Does he pray she’ll wake up? Yes.
Does he want her to suffer? No.
He doesn’t know how to feel anymore
Lost in his own emotions thinking of hers.
Books only lasted so long.
So did visiting hours, because the world’s unfair.
He doesn’t want to walk.
But he has to,
For he’s still living for both of them.