The Quiet Goodbye

A cool, dim, and quiet still blankets the room. A lone street light peers in through the slightly open slats of the blinds, casting light and shadows in parallel lines. His breathing loosens, falling into long spaces, each breath softer than before. Only the soft cotton spread holds his quiet shape in place. His breathing stops for a while; it resurfaces, stirring his own faint murmured prayers. He shifts and moans before he falls again. His hand is warm as if he were fully alive. His warmth slips slowly away. Touch will tempt him to stay—to stay through pain, delaying death. I don’t touch and I cannot release my words; they hang in my throat. My tears fall in silence, my heart tightening around the silence. I sit still and quiet by his side; offering nothing.