Hoping Beyond Hope...

We sit down, hands held, looking out of the window, smiling, talking. We watch trains rush by and realize our pace is slower than the world. We talk, like, *talk* talk.

I tell you stuff that happened in college, and you are genuinely interested. You laugh at my jokes, and tell me things. Or we sit and watch TV. We smile at each other.

I tell you I'm tired and you smile and say that you understand. You say I've been doing good. You tell me you are proud of me. After such a long time, you appreciate me.

I'm feeling happy about this, when suddenly you clasp my hand very tight. You are in pain. Then the realization hits me. How could I have possibly forgotten? The sights, sounds and the smells...

Its the hospital we are in, and its just that you need me right now.

I call the nurse and she gives you some pain killers, and while they take the time to work, you hold my hand tighter, withering in pain.

I know it really hurts. Cold sweat, tears, nausea all gush out, and its hard to keep a poker face and tell you it will all be okay, but I try.

And slowly, the pain does go away. The pain killers are really strong.

You gently fall asleep, my hand free from your clasp, and I wonder if you would go back to being yourself when we get home.

And I hope against hope I'm wrong.

And I'm praying you'll talk to me when we are home.

Because your silence can hurt real bad too, and unfortunately, Mum- there is no pain killer for that.