White. Fluorescent lights and the smell of the unnaturally clean. Everything is so white it’s hard to focus. The shapes become blurred at the edges, the window blending in the light. For a moment, sitting upright on the threadbare bed—I see her. We say nothing as we embrace. I think I have waited for this moment for forever. Her gown is so thin like the time she has left. I can feel her life force flickering. Mine protected, thickly encased by the time I have left. Her heart, beating more than any other in these moments. Mine beating steady, soldier steeled. My arms close in. The weight of her arms lifting from my back. She’s leaving, she’s leaving.  

A long bell echoes over the ocean. The dying afternoon sun flickers on gray water. The bell sounds again, deeper and darker. It smells of dried roses and snuffed out candles—the scent of death. It disturbs me to the point that I forget how to cry. The waters grow dark with no one to light the way. I start falling, spinning, drowning. Can I see her again? Can I see her again?—I  will never know the answer to that.  

We are in the same room, trying to end the day. I’m running on the last bits of afternoon fuel, as is she. She eats chocolates almost shamelessly. I can smell how sweet they are, the cocoa, the nuts, the pleasure of sugar. The fake tulip on the windowsill spectates our awkwardness and wordless conversations. Mostly she seems upset and frustrated today. I try not to blame her. She asks me something and makes a side remark, looking annoyed. She calls me careless. Deep down, I tell myself that it is because she believes in me and still hopes that next week will be different. I wish I had that kind of faith and patience. 

I tap my fingers on the edge of my mug. It smells of coffee, baked apples, and cinnamon. People come and go, walled in by their blue light screens and white oblivion. I’m sort of watching but not really watching. I’ve asked for a refill some number of seconds ago, but it feels like I’ve been waiting for hours. I look at the clock again but it is unintelligible. The clouds are trudging through the sky, carrying the weight of what they’ve witnessed. 

The rain pours. Beads of water collect at the ends of my hair, falling onto the ground where they shatter. My heart struggles to pump warmth to my hands and feet. I’m tired, feeling so cold. She asks me to sit down, gives me a chocolate. I can’t tell if she wants to make herself feel better by being generous or if this is a sign that she is no longer unhappy, or, even more outrageous, if she wants to make me happy. I don’t take it because I don’t know how to interpret this sign. I carry the sound of her voice and the gesture home. It takes me the entire evening until I fall asleep to feel my body again.  

I drift through the crowd, floating through the chaos. I am a ghost that has not yet passed the point of death. Can you see me? Can you see me? You say yes. You and I are more attuned to the world than most, our senses calibrated with the movement of the cosmos. The others aren’t. Their eyes glaze over when I pass them. They can’t hear me walking on the shifting gravel, nor can they feel that what’s beside them isn’t so human anymore. But you say hello, and invite me inside. So I decide in that moment, you are the savior of my soul.  

And I see standing outside, is her. She is a ghost of some kind, too, having no reflections in the pond. In that moment I realize she is the idol of my worship. My worship had gotten me here, and for some reason despite my non-death I think it is all worth it. She says to me that it is sweet. I ask her what is. As our conversation ends, everything turns white.

And I’m leaving, I’m leaving.