I clutched a wilting
bouquet in my clammy hands,
dreading the visit I
would soon make.
The nurse swung the door
open,
and my breath caught
in my throat.
His broken and wasted
body lay before me,
his once shining and
mischievous eyes now
dull.
I cleared my throat,
and his gaze shifted
from the white washed wall
to me,
and in that moment,
I knew what he wanted
most:
To die.
But how I longed
to switch places with him,
to give him my healthy lungs
and take in his
failing ones.

We thought we had more
time,
months, years even,
but the doctors got
it all wrong,
and he would be gone
within days.