The day you died, you were not feeling well at all. You were all heart and it finally was giving out. I stayed with you, sitting on the hospital floor, my hand in your cage. Your body against mine. I left so that they could give you some medicine. And when they called us back, I expected for you to be well. Not on the table after a crash. I had them remove the respirator, I had to let you go.
As you went I remember whispering in your ear that I loved you and that this too was ok. And how your heart would jump as you heard it. I am not sure when you left completely, I know that in my heart you have never left at all.
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