Too Late

By Lady Ann

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I am not afraid of the death, not at all. In fact, I welcome dying.

However, what I am afraid of, is the notion of falling in love.

I am afraid of rejection.

I am afraid of rejecting others, the same as being rejected.

The notion of hurting others does not define me as well I do not deserve the pain.

I cannot tolerate pain. I detest pain, no matter how bittersweet it could be.

Yet, here I am, in the midst of the turmoil, standing at the crossroads.

Waiting for you as you promised.

But where are you now?

Or am I just simply hoping?

When are you going to come and rescue me from this sullen emptiness that had my heart wallowed in pain?

Or are you going to leave me hanging? Staring at the abyss?

Please, do not give up on me, on us.

Don't make me keep on running, chasing.

Don't make me wait for too long...

As I hear the clicking of the machine, the seconds tick by, minutes turned to hours which seemed like forever.

Where are you? Are you going to leave me hanging?

Or are you going to let me die?

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Here I stood, staring at the cruel machine, indicating a flat line, giving that deafening strange buzz, indicating that you have said good bye.

I came for you.

I went as fast as I could.

Yet you never waited.

Am I too late?

Why did you not wait for me?

I sunk on my knees, staring at your lifeless body. Your soul cannot witness the beauty and the cruelty of this world, as the windows have been closed.

Your voice cannot sing the sweet lullabies and hum the precious notes that you keep on singing to me.

You cannot hear the precious birds in their sweet song, and my deep baritone voice you had described.

I am all in despair, as my tears gave up, and damped my cheeks already wet from the sweat from running and from the previous tears that I keep on shedding for what has all been lost.

If only my heart would give up as well.

But no.

It remained steadfast in its will to live, just as you wanted me be.

I stood slowly, despite falling into the certain pit of melancholia which I cannot fathom nor distinguish at all.

Yet no matter how wobbly my legs are, it led me closer to you.

I tilted my face to give a last gaze at your tender face.

The face whose eyes cannot see me from my perspective any longer.

I kissed your forehead.

I kissed those closed eyes.

I kissed that nose.

And lastly, for the first time, my lips touched yours gently; as light as a brush of a feather.

I stared at you for the last time.