If Geraldine had a soundtrack that played around her wherever she went, it would be one filled with a melancholy piano, its very notes tugging at your heart. Then, you would hear the lonely sound of strings, playing a mournful adagio. The strings would start swelling, and the piano would be joined by a voice, a primal howling that sings this dirge. It's the only song that has played inside her head since she woke up in a hospital bed. And when Geraldine came home, she didn't change a thing : everything remained as it was when they left. She couldn't bring herself to change anything, it might take away some precious memory of him. This house where she is now, where she'd previously only been for a handful of hours, it became her haven. She doesn't leave here, except for a a couple of hours a day when she has to go the hospital, and her aunt drops by periodically to deliver her groceries and toiletries. Everything hurts, Geraldine thinks. And even staying here hurts, because of the memories. But anywhere else hurts more. So she stays, and she cries, and she feels herself withering.
Every day has become the same for her. She wakes up at the exact same time every day. Some days she doesn't even eat her breakfast. Some days she doesn't even eat. She can't even remember the last time she brushed her teeth. Geraldine looks at the mirror, and see her hair becoming matted and closer to straw than to gold. She's very thin now, gaunt even. She wants to punch the mirror until it cracks and her knuckles are slick with her blood. She wants something that hurts more than this. This is her life, now. But by far the worst part are the nights - every night she dreams of him. She dreams of them. Sometimes, in the dream, they stayed home. Other times, he looked at her for a fraction of a second less. In dreams everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. But in real life, nothing is beautiful and everything hurts. Sometimes she wonders just how much longer she'll be able to hold on. 'I feel I'm getting weaker', she says to herself. But she doesn't give up.
She's sitting down in a chair by the dinner table in the kitchen, the boxes with the letters he'd written to her neatly stacked. She has read them all innumerable times; the letters, the journals, and the manuscript he'd written. It was rough, in need of some polish, but it had promise. Now, it's just a broken promise for a broken heart. She's reading one of the letters, her trembling hands holding it like the most precious treasure. Earlier, she had received a call, one she dreaded receiving for months now. The time had come, the order had been given. The call to arms was never true. She feels herself running on autopilot. As if someone had commandeered her body and was now going through the motions. She hears her voice on the phone, but does recognize it. It's someone else talking, not her. It's someone else saying she understands, because she doesn't. It's someone else saying she will be on her way, because she'll be staying here with the memories and the tears. It's someone else driving down that road, that damned road, and making her way to the hospital. It's someone else parking the car, going out of the car, and locking it. It's someone else who's comforted by others who received the same call. It's someone else - someone who vaguely looks like her, who sort of sounds like her - who's talking to the doctor. She knows it's her who's crying her eyes out, though. She knows it's her who's nodding at the words that are being said. She knows it's her standing in a room looking down at the love of her life, tubes through his body. She knows it's her who has to say goodbye. The doctor tells her that whenever she's ready, she just has to let him know. She nods.
Geraldine stands by the bedside, and watches as his chest rises and falls in time with the respirator. She tells him how much she loves him - how much she has always loved him, and always will. She tells him she's afraid of what will happen now, she's afraid she'll do something stupid and desperate. She wants to go too, to join him forever, wherever it is they end up in. Her legs threaten to give in, she's on the verge of collapsing, how can one human being carry so much pain inside her? She runs her fingers through his hair, this is the last time I'll ever do it, she already hates the fact that soon she won't even remember how he smelled, what his voice sounded like, and how certain details of his face will fade from her memory in time. This is not fair, she thinks. She covers her face with her hands, and sobs uncontrollably. There will be only pain from now on. Only pain. She would gladly suffer all pain across creation if he could be well. Her head throbs. Her eyes are bleary. She feels sick right down to her soul. Don't ask me to do this, she repeats over and over again. She leans down, gets close to his face and kisses his lips one final time. She feels her tears running down her face as she kisses him, falling down onto his face, tracing an Iliad of woes. It's time, she says.
There's a button by the side of the bed that will alert a nurse, and then the doctor will come, and then it will all be over. She presses it, and waits, and dies on the inside. Every second feels like an age, each agonizing moment stretching into a torturous eternity. She's humming the song he loves, their special song. It's been so many things to them, now it's just a song to say goodbye. She hears the doctor coming in the room, and he asks her if she's ready. She lies, and says yes. She tells the doctor she needs to look at him one more time. She approaches the bed, silently, and her heart breaks as she feels the skin of his hands. 'I'm going to miss you so much', she says, as she grabs hold to a limp, lifeless hand. 'I love you so much.', she says. 'I will always love you.' She entwines her fingers on his, as they'd done so many times in the past. 'How I wish I could hold your hand forever', she says, squeezing his hand. And his hand... his hand twitches, and squeezes back, albeit feebly. He opens his eyes slowly, as if they'd been glued together while he slept. There's recognition in his eyes at once when she sees her. Time stands still. Her eyes go wide, there's so much joy in her now, so much love. Geraldine kisses him, and with her kiss his life begins.
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