For Better Or Worse

He places a cool cloth across her forehead. She's burning up, in and out of sleep, struggling. It's breaking his heart but he's so grateful to be here. His guitar lays at the foot of the bed. Gibson Les Paul Standard Gold Top, the one gift she got right. He played to her for hours, all her favourites, singing in that voice she loves, making up words if he forgot them. She didn't notice. If she did, she didn't care. She probably only hears him in waves anyway. She comes to then slides back under, the way tides ebb and flow at the full moon's passing. She's leaving him, this time for good. No more slamming doors or hanging up the phone. No cars speeding off down a dirt road, taillights fading while he stands alone in the ditch wondering how he's going to get back home. So much anger. Rage. Passion. Intensity. Disappointment and fear defined her until she exhausted him and her body in the process. Millions of cells, billions of molecules passing in the air between them. She's climbing up above her corporeal self now. So frail, stripped down, her bones pronounced in a way that demands attention. Nothing is soft anymore. Her skin is papery, translucent, blue. This is what surrender looks like. They had finally started to gently pull at the thread, taking care to unknit each stitch and mindfully preserve the original skein that drew them together, so compelling, full of love and compassion, a thrilling, wonderful connection that in time they could rebuild the framework together, using a different, healthier, stronger pattern. A better fit for both. Six months isn't long enough. She may not make it til morning. They had 8 years: 2920 days, 70, 080 hours, 4,204,800 minutes and it's not enough. Nowhere near enough. The time spent in turmoil is outweighing the weeks and months, years of bliss and light and revelations. They are slow burners. As their ocean started to settle she began to unravel, all on her own. Something bigger than both of them, taking her down in the eye of some undefinable storm. She has good days. He keeps track. Today is not one of them. He'll wait. The tide always turns, for better or worse.