Sometimes I want to tell her. I'll stand in the doorway and watch her do her hair. It amazes me how wonderful she is most of the time. I'm not going to paint her as a saint because we all have bad days.
I want to take her hand and sit her down. I want to look into her eyes and tell her the truth. I want to hold her and tell her it's going to be ok.
I'll never understand why she's with me. She tells me she loves me every once in a while, usually I have to say it first. I don't let myself buy into it though. I know the truth already. I know she doesn't. She couldn't possibly. It was made clear to me a long time ago and I'll never forget it.
Still though.
I want to tell her. How amazing she is. How happy she's made me. How awesome it's been living the illusion.
And how my heart is in the process of calcifying due to a condition called valvular stenosis. And how my prognosis isn't good. How my heart gets tired sometimes. How I can take her shopping and wait while she tries on clothes. Make jokes just to get her smiling. All the while my heart is killing me.
"Honey. I'm dying at a much faster rate than you. Wanna get drunk?"