Trigger warning: subjects of grief, loss, and death.

Note: There is hope. The situation addressed is fluid. Cautious optimism is the primary focus. The following is my own attempt to process these complex feelings.

My friend is dying.

Do you ever have words that you just need to write?

My friend is dying.

[eyes well, fingers press that worry spot in between the eyes]

You reach for the pencil again, but you don't know why.

Have you ever had a friend that was there for you in crisis?

[deep breath audibly blown out]

That friend knows you.

My friend is dying.

[stares at the tip of the pencil, hand goes to forehead]

My friend is dying.

No one else will ever understand that part of you.

You will never share that look with anyone else.

You will never hear their stories again.

No one else could possibly understand; no one knows what the two of you know.

My friend is dying.

[head in hands, hair through fingers]

No one understands.

[stares at random spot in space.]

I still need them.

They have too much life left.

[eyes well again]

It’s not their time.