The night moved along its course from just a little too hot to sleep to comfortable with the fan pointed directly at me. I imagined us talking in the dark comfortably. Slowly and sleepily. When it was time to return to sleep, you leaned your body lightly against me. My hand was on your hip, in my imagination.
Someone was recently talking about death doulas. A person to be there, with and for you, when it's time to leave this world. And then I recalled this imprinted image of you on top of me. You looked long into my eyes. It felt as though we were seeing each other for the first time. There was magic in your face, and the white ceiling above you gave way to a black sky filled with brilliant stars. I felt ready to leave this world then, to become a part of the stars, with you so close to me like that, making all things align somehow perfectly.
It seems impossible for a connection like that to no longer be. Such significance. I could live the rest of my days sustained by just that memory. But it was only a moment falling through space among an infinitude of other tumbling moments flashing into being and then going dark.
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