I stammer into your room
in the middle of the night.
Sitting down, I lean against your bed
and watch you sleep,
watch you breathe.
Your little chest rising and falling.
You murmur inaudible words.
I listen to your nose whistle.
you don’t know that I’m here, but,
I hope, somehow,
that you know.
Even though I see you breathing
and I know your numbers are good,
I pinch you
or nudge you,
making sure you’re alive.
If I could freeze this moment I would.
How are you so strong?
Maybe, because you don’t know any better.
Maybe, because we won’t let you give up.
I kiss you goodbye every night when we say goodnight
and I wake up in the middle of the night
to say goodbye one more time.
How are you so strong…when I don’t want to be?
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