I walk that path to your bed in my dreams; wanting to reach you again; wanting to be able to hold you tight night after night.
Dreams betray, they never fulfil; never bring up what they promise.
I see you there puffed up and breathless; hear your words fight through a tightness of lungs already closing down (although we didn't know).
I felt along your arm and touched, sensing the puffiness of skin, the tired look in eyes, the fight for words.
I asked you questions, sought for an answer as a father does, looking for the purpose of a hurting son.
I argued with the nurse, pointed out your fading state, your puffed up skin and frame, how you could hardly hold the mug in hands, barely talk through hard to catch breath.