The last time I saw you, you were lying in the bed, t-shirt around your chest.
Your white chest was peppered with purple bruises where they had stuck you time and time again, it labored with its rising and falling as you struggled to stay in your body.
Your hand was blackened and bruised and twitched as you dreamed a dream that lacked peace; the flesh had sunken between the frail bones
Your eyes were closed and crusted over.
I wanted to take a warm sweet cloth and wipe them clean.
I wanted to wipe down your ravaged body and make it young and vigorous again.
I wanted you to be strong and steady to take care of me again as you had all those years.
But instead, I sat beside you bearing witness to your humanity, hoping I was taking care of you at least half as good as you had taken care of me.
Probably not.
I was just bearing witness.