Ben's throat cancer has returned. Living a lonely life, he found a woman he loves but finds out she's been unfaithful. Ben starts to think the lonely position of neutral isn't that bad. He writes poems and dialogue narratives. Will Ben survive cance...
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I stood, hands folded in front of my body, in front of Hannah's grave. The words I love you escaped under a thought, not a feeling, but my lips remain sealed. I lowered my head and slammed my eyes shut as if to pray.
And I spoke as if she were God and could read my thoughts.
The checkmarks on Hannah's bedposts chalk another notch under her belt of cheapshots.
The golden-brown leaves in her hair flickered under street lights.
Even in death, Hannah gambles with my heart until her eyes touch mine in a deep sleep, fluttering until my eyes slam open and like a vapor, she disappears in the wind as if her skin weren't cold to the touch, and her eyes didn't close as if she hadn't died from cancer last fall.
I dream of her, but the thoughts escape my memories, and the words bring both a chill and a sarcastic grin. The taste of Hannah's breath lingers on my tongue—even today—even in death. I kneel, dropping a red rose on her grave; the words escape my lips from under a thought, not a feeling.
