I could hear everything. I could hear the breath floating out of her as her chest slowly rose and fell. I could hear the heart monitor and its nearly perfect 88 beats per minute. I could hear the clock on the wall as I stared at it. It’s cadence keeping me calm. It was the only thing that would never give up. I thought, if the clock would just stop, if the world stopped and time, the fourth dimension, was non-existent then she might have a chance again. Maybe, just maybe, if the clock stopped and time gave up she could stay with me just a moment longer. I knew I would cherish that moment for the rest of my life. I would cherish that last moment of her existence, the last moment before she was taken by the beast and I was left sitting in the hospital, crying, wishing for her back, and regretting everything I didn’t tell her. I wanted her to know everything, but life ends too quickly, much too fast. I quietly think to myself, if time stopped and we could still exist, that’s all I would want.

It all sounds very selfish, and I guess I was. It was her time to go and she recognized that, accepted it. She could have been saved, but she didn’t want it. She thought that, if some “god” saw that it was her time to leave this world and move on to another one, then it was her time to go. She accepted that fact and went with him gladly. She once said that, in death, you didn’t really die, that you were just getting rid of your old, abused body and letting your soul be free so that you could find peace. Peace, she said, was impossible in our world. Not non-existent, but impossible. She also said the same thing about happiness. It was impossible to achieve such great heights in emotion and selflessness. That’s where death came in. Death would help us rid ourselves of our faults holding us back and guide our spirits back to peace, back to happiness.

Yet, here I still sit, in this chair at the side of her bed, waiting for it to be over already, wishing for her nightmare to end. I could tell that she was in pain the last couple of days, and it was so hard to see her like that. She told me I didn’t have to stay, but I wanted to. I wanted to be the one to make her life a little happier before she went. I thought that would be the least I could do for her. She had been the love of my life at a time, and a great friend at another. I thought it might have eased her pain some if I was there. Another glance at the clock and another blip from her heart monitor, they were rhythmic, hypnotizing almost. She broke that rhythmic spell as she awakened, her green eyes batting and adjusting to the light. They were dull and still filled with sleep as she glanced around the room. Then, on me, she stopped and gave a smile. I told her that she would be okay, and that she didn’t have to wake up. She thanked me and looked at the flowers that I had brought her. I told her that her room was too white and needed a bit of color. The roses were yellow and pink. I told her to go back to sleep.

“I’ll be okay,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. It’s my time and I’m ready. I’ll be okay.” She fell back into her ecstasy in minutes, to dream one last dream. I kissed her forehead and sat back down, looking at the flowers.

The slow rhythm of the ticks and beeps seemed to settle back into their place. I sat there, thoughtless, for hours seemingly. Then I started to draw. I placed the perfect periwinkle blue ribbon near the clear, crystal vase which held the roses. Another couple of hours passed. Then silence came for a split second where a heart blip should have been. That infinitesimally small fragment of time took what seemed like a century. A monotone beep followed, unending. Tears started to well up in my eyes as I looked at the clock. It had stopped.