all i have, i will give to you. and at times when no one wants to, i will give you me. and we’ll be us.
i kiss your fine wine mouth and i forget all the metaphors i’d been planning to write about in my head. i wanted to kiss you until our lips tasted the same, but then i figure there’s probably something about orange tic tacs that you don’t like and that i like too much. eventually we’d both get sick.
you tangle your fingers in my hair and i chuckle softly because there’s not much to grab. not anymore. but i’m still glad you can kiss me this way; we haven’t kissed this way in months. years, even. last saturday, we tried to have sex because we wanted a baby, but i couldn’t even give you that.
i’m sorry for it, and you know it, but i don’t have to say it out loud. that’s what i like the most about our love. you know it on the tip of my tongue how sorry i am that our life has turned this way, laced with chemo drugs and cat scans, and yet i don’t have to say a word. but i guess there’s something sad about silence, too.
i can see it in your eyes, though. how hard you’re trying to pick us both up. but it makes you sad. it doesn’t make me sad; i’ve come to live with it. but every single morning i wake up and see that broken look in your brown eyes and i feel like apologizing until my last breath.
but then i guess that would make you sad, too.
i’m just trying to make this work, you know? still trying to be us. i didn’t - don’t - want this sickness to eat away at you, too. i’m trying to be strong for both of us. i was the one who asked you to make love to me on saturday, and you were eager, but the night ended with me on the bathroom floor, throwing up in the toilet.
you held my hair back and you whispered that you loved me, you loved me forever, and in the mix of all the throw up and the traces of blood, i started crying, not knowing if i was crying from joy or complete sorrow.
i guess there’s something about having a baby that makes us feel like we can fix it all again. some selfish people say that children only ruin the spark of lovers’ flames, but it only ignites ours. i mentioned the word baby to you and our love burst into a conflagration, and we were so excited that we couldn’t contain it.
you called her ariana already because for some reason you already knew it was all going to work out and she was going to be a girl and we were going to be happy again.
but god, i should’ve known. you can’t have a baby when you’re sick. the radiation, the constant intake of medication not made in this world.
i guess it was just nice for once, to think about it. you know?
and i tell you that there’s no use in trying to have sex when we’re not going to get a baby and i’m probably just going to get hurt, but you continue to kiss me anyway. i don’t feel forced; i feel absolutely free with your fingertips like feathers on my skin. you don’t want to break me and for once, i appreciate that.
we pull away from each other and i look at you. you smile at me.
i try not to cry, but the way your lips are closed and your eyes are sparkling in this real smile are gorgeous. and it’s overwhelming. eventually i smile too.
“we can have a baby later. we’re going to,” you say, as if you know this is all going to work out. i’m glad one of us has faith. “right now i just... i want to be with you, amanda chey. i miss you.”
we’ve spent our best years together but lately i feel like i have been drifting apart. i’m around the house and i still go with you when we shop for groceries, but you still miss me, and what hurts the most is that i miss you too.
“don’t miss me,” i soothe, reaching my hand up to rest on your cheek. my fingers curl against your stubble. “i’m here. i’m not going to leave,” i promise. i want to keep it.
“i won’t let you.” your words are like ginger.
“good.” i end the conversation with a gentle kiss. “it’s nice to feel like you still want me,” i blurt out, but my voice cowers halfway through and i clear my throat. ashamed, i look down at our laps.
“of course i still want you,” you say to me, your eyebrows furrowing. “i love you so much. there’s no way in hell i wouldn’t want you. you’re still the girl - the woman i fell in love with. cancer’s gonna have to get through me before it gets to you.”
“look at you... you’re still gorgeous, baby. you’ll always be. you’re my forever love and nothing’s going to change that. even when forever ends.”
you kiss me and i feel as if i have blossomed. you have a way of making me feel new. i am not brittle, i am not broken; i am whole as long as i am with you.
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