In 72 hours,
1,782 minutes,
103,680 seconds,
How many times can you tell someone you love them?
How many prayers can you pray?
How many tears can you cry in three days?
Too many.
Your world can change completely,
Being thrown off its axis, spinning loosely into insanity.
72 hours: she has weeks to live, the doctors all say.
We can’t do much, but we still pray.
Believing in miracles seems like a waste of time.
But yet we can’t bring ourselves to stop trying,
Hoping that someone in the sky will hear our prayers and wake us all up.
From this nightmare.
I make a pact to myself, I will fill every second, with thoughts of hellos, not goodbyes,
Until the second that she dies.
60 hours: not much to say. She’s dying.
50 hours: Her kidneys failing fast.
48 hours: In a crowded room, I have never felt more alone.
30 hours: Hold up, slow down, you say she only has twenty-four hours to live? What happened to weeks? Every tick, tick, tick of the seconds passing by becomes unbearable. Watching as your mother weeps, trying to hold in the tears, trying to be strong, but, now, what’s the point?
24 hours: Time flies by as your holding on, but passes so slow it is as if you are in slow motion. You hold her hand as tightly as possible as if the second you loosen your grip they will be laying her down in the grave
15 hours: I cannot sleep. I cannot sleep. I cannot sleep, I repeat and repeat as if sure willpower will keep my body going. I tell her “it’s okay. It’s okay to leave.” The words get caught in my throat and I am barely able to breath, or spit out a sad, “I can survive,” knowing with every inch of my soul it’s a lie, but I know I can’t admit this to her, because, it’s time to go.
6 hours: Time is up according to the doctors, just a waiting game now. It’s three in the morning, my hand still in hers. Willpower isn’t enough, I drift off to sleep.
1 hour: I can’t do this...
30 minutes: Memories flooding my head of the words I never said, of the things I never did, never had the chance to do.
10 minutes: Like, go dress shopping for homecoming.
9: Or have her approve my fiancé
8: Or sleepover when I got in a fight with my dad.
7: Or tell her enough times that I love her.
6: Or be a bridesmaid as she married the love of her life.
5: Or hold her hand as my first baby was born.
4: Everyone leaves the room. I can feel it’s the end.
3: Someone, please come in, I can’t do this by myself.
2: I am trembling, trying to find my vocal cords, terrified, I squeeze her hand.
1: Mom walks in the door, breath in, breath out, flat line.

12 years old,
A quiet girl with
A boyish wardrobe,
And a soft smile,
A front of the bus kind of girl,
Who cared nothing about fitting in
Or popularity,
As long as it meant keeping her 4.0 GPA.
A girl who didn’t say much,
A girl who just wanted to fade into the background.
Seduced by the idea,
Of having friends,
Pulled into a world,
She just wasn’t ready to join.
She sat in the front left seat every day behind the driver.
She never spoke a word,
Other than saying a quiet “thank you” as she got of the bus.
Until the day the boy sat down
Beside her.
She smiled as he introduced himself and offered to shake her hand.
And she introduced herself.
Speaking on the bus for the first time.
Every day she sat by him,
Every day he would have a clever joke to tell her,
Or a compliment to give her,
And she found him so mysterious,
The way he had at least five coffees a day
But never had too much energy.
The way he would touch her,
As if she was a novelty.
The way he seemed to care about her,
Even though she knew she wasn’t pretty.
That was probably the most confusing part of all.
But, one day, she knew something was different.
When she sat down he didn’t have a clever joke to tell,
And when he touched her,
It was a hand crushing down on her shoulder.
As he grabbed her hair,
Ripping it out strand by strand.
As he told her, how lucky she was to have him in her life.
And his bus stop was four before hers,
So he had just enough time
To be waiting at her front door
When she got home from the bus.
And he drug her out to the woods,
A place they always went together.
And for the first time around him,
She was terrified.
She knew she shouldn’t follow, but he wouldn’t let her pull away,
He only grabbed her hand tighter,
And wouldn’t let go.
And then he pulled out his knife
Pushing her into the dirt
As she scrambled for something to hit him with,
He grabbed her neck,
The cool blade against her skin,
And she couldn’t fight any more.
She gave up,
As he tried to take off her shirt,
She trembled,
And all he had to tell her,
Was the fact that she was lucky,
Because no one would ever love a fat girl
Could ever love a fat girl.
A twelve year old girl
Without her smile
A twelve year old girl with trust issues,
No friends,
And a 2.0 GPA.