Fentanyl patches for pain. Haloperidol for nausea. And an oxygen generator for comfort.
You’ve been dying since the diagnosis five months ago. But now, everything is accelerating, and you are becoming overcome. The life that remains offers you fleeting glimpses of lucidity. But the tide always retreats.
The tide always retreats.
And I’m left standing here, my flesh a ghostly blue, cast by a full moon overhead.
I wonder what will become of all the things you’ve left behind. Perhaps I will pack your belongings inside a shipping container and lead a line straight to the sea. I will deposit the vessel into the corner of the ocean, and I will follow,
diving after and sinking so far below, the machines of time are rendered obsolete.
Fentanyl patches for the pain and haloperidol for nausea. The oxygen generator hums, and I land a kiss soft as sand onto your cheek.
Goodnight, my Love.
Your journey is nearly over.