We have a friend who is dying. It was sudden. There he was entertaining us, fake punching us, there he was passing out the cards, or ordering the eighth beer tower between the three of us while we're puking our guts out on the floor.
Now he is lying on the bed comatose. Distant, unreachable.
We are sitting on opposite sides of his death bed. Sometimes we glance at each other, hesitantly, never knowing what to expect.
I feel like telling them. The one dying. The one living.
That she has left. That my heart and soul has been ripped asunder. That there is a void in the centre of me so large, so massive, so powerful that it feels like everything might fall in.
But I cannot speak it. It would feel like a mockery.
To speak of living death before the dying.
We both of us die in the still tense silence.