and he spent all his time thinking of the last thing she said. "I'm only dying so I can haunt you", she coughed, a slight smile on her lips. after that, the only sounds her body could take credit for was the beeping of the machine beside her bed and the humming of the feeding tubes projecting from her mouth. for six days, he held her hand in silence. occasionally, tears would would fall down his cheeks; his family assumed they were caused by grief, but the truth was, it's because he hardly blinked. he didn't want to miss a moment.

now he spends his time lost in thought, illuminated by candlelight, waiting as patiently as a man can. He stays up every night, praying for a sign. A ghostly apparition. A manifestation. Something to let him know she still thought of him as much as he thought of her. He knew that if she didn't come back soon, he'd go and find her himself.

the air is heavy with the taste of blood and metal, the smell of smoke filling the cracks. remnants of candles and red, everywhere. moments like these make me hope that heaven is real. moments like these make me believe that heaven is unlikely, improbable and, worst of all, impossible.