An unslept wake

...Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

—Edna St. Vincent Millay, Dirge Without Music

You began preparation for your final goodbye a week ago today. I remember my mad dash across the city so that I could help you be better. I remember that overwhelming fear that you may have left before I came back. I remember you not able to look at me: I remember that glazed look in your eyes when you thought nobody was looking.

You know I hate you right now, don't you? I hate you for being such a coward after being so brave all this while. I hate you because you should have said goodbye and not slipped away when you knew I wasn't around.

I hate you because you won't come back again to tell me off, to scold me, to be my mentor. I hate you because, in the end, despite all my efforts, you did get your way.

I hate you because you won't come back to me again. I hate you because I won't have you around to love any more.