【Just A Memory】

At his bedside I sit, listening solely to the rhythmic song of the numerous monitors relaying the condition of his failing organs. The audible version of an hourglass, each fading chime yet another grain of sand. I’m no longer positive it’s even worth waiting for the final second, holding a hand incapable of holding my own, a one sided love, for they no longer know I’m watching, waiting for a miracle or the sweet release, none may tell.
None of my positivity or love may be received any longer, given with no reception. An eternity wasted wallowing in shared pain, each beat drifted farther apart as even the sunlight hides from the inevitable, that final truth or or absence of that very, long detested truth. None but I still hold love to him despite the mere shell of his being remaining for my affection. Through the former months each sliver of character chipped away, never to be seen or reconstructed forevermore.
More distance between the mechanical chirps, elicit from the evident gradual failure of heart. Do not resuscitate. There’s nothing left to reanimate other than a dysfunction, shattered heart and failing lung. For once we must believe in the expiration date scribbled upon the box. Nothing left to try, no hope, no miracle, no deity could wake him from everlasting slumber instilled by illness as opposed to spindles.
Flat line. The final message of desire to live from mechanical bodies--time of death, too soon.
Yet with that ringing in my ears, I remain stoic as my beloved corpse held so dearly. Only memories remain, the pleasant and painful hours remain. The pleasant and painful hours forever to plague my mind no matter how very busy I hope to keep myself. Now he’s just a memory. Experiencing reminiscence upon those very recollections of past cannot help but tinge their essence with a new flavor of misery.
Time will slowly heal these wounds, though until the moment of personal tranquility comes I permit all thought to prod upon the chamber in my mind dedicated to this sorrow. Nary will I function without ringing in my ears, the constant reminder of my dearest never waking from his peaceful rest, almost idealized in its equanimity--sitting within the storm’s eye, perpetually experiencing the peaceful patch of sun lain within a crowd of chaos. The waves  of pean threaten to envelop each weakened, unstable ship coasting upon its waters. Hose without crews are most easily victimized, for nothing fights to keep them afloat.
This, is loss. Lass and the attempts to repair the puzzle of life without having all three hundred pieces in the package. Though unlike reality’s most physical puzzles, you cannot merely purchase another box in hopes of finding the piece you require. For no piece will ever fit just right no matter how many funds you waste in hopes of locating one. None will fill the precisely carved void just right. Excruciating, it pains one more than anything placeable with a single thought or term. Knowing such an abyss knows no tangible end, holds no key to being filled--knowing it’s to continually remain, an open egress to a future of brooding, never a pleasant acknowledgment to come across in the least.
Only when you shatter and deconstruct every wall, absorb, accept, eliminate--that is when the void, that bottomless pitfall of emotion, shall finally close upon itself. When your protective barriers are no more, once they crumble and plummet, tear everything you know and love to pieces through the absence of order. A new ground will build itself from what remains, wholly composed of your present, a perfect puzzle. It was never about filling the absence of space once held by elements of your living, but rearranging to eliminate the necessity.
Your puzzle, your post-loss puzzle will at last compensate for that deficiency. Change the curves and edges of every body composing your mentality to fit together perfectly once more--no longer with any holes, only cracks.