The miniscule particles of sand keep falling . . . tick, tock, tick, drop, drop, drop . . .

I am in a room, watching the sand in the hourglass slowly emptying itself.

And I count.

I count the years, months, days, minutes, and seconds till the day I can hold you once again.

Tick, tock, tick, drop, drop, drop . . .

I look out the lone window, through the hazy glass, and I see you.

I see you every single day. Sometimes you come with bouquets of flowers, other times with overflowing tears. And yet, there is one thing you always come with - your smile.

You know how I loved, still love, your smile. You know how it brightened my day even in the gloomiest weather, how it gave me strength to hold on, how it made me love you all the more . . .

You would always meet me outside my room. You would be leaning against the wall, panting for breath, but with a heart-warming smile on your lips – that was how you always used to wait for me.

Then, you would call out my name.

Just one simple word. A word I hear a hundred times a day.

But with you, it's different.

The way you automatically smiled, as if you can't help but be happy, while you uttered my name; the way your lips shaped it, or the way your voice caressed it, made it seem like it's the most wonderful word in the world. It made me feel like I'm the most wonderful person in the world.

Funny how such a common name can be so uncommon, and impossibly special, on your smiling lips.

Do you know? I would always see you beneath my window, whether it was through the thickest snowstorms, or, the heaviest rainfalls, or, the hottest of summer days. But, instead of waiting for you outside my room, I would always wait for you to call me. Just so I can hear your smiling voice wrap around my name.

Then, I would go to you and we would explore our tiny piece of the world . . . together.

-----

Your eyes twinkled when they beheld mine. Then, your eyes never leaving mine, you would hold both my hands in yours. You would squeeze them comfortingly and brush your lips against them. You will clasp one of them tightly and we would walk down the hall, side by side.

When we get outside, I would run to the swings, and you would push me up. Higher and higher I go . . .

Till I can't see you anymore.

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I remember my last moment with you. You were in a hospital gown, which they made you wear, and you looked so pale. Your normally cheerful face was etched with pain and grief, and your cheeks were marked with trails of tears. Still, there was your smile. It was a sad smile, completely different from your usual one, but you were still smiling. And that's all I ever wanted. For you to keep smiling.

I remember the last words I heard from you. You said one simple word. One simple word with a smile on your lips.

-----

Then, everything went blank.

-----

I was lost. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to stay by your side, but I was being pulled away.

I saw your smile. I made my choice.

I love your smile.

 And yet, here you come – without your smile.

You look so grave, so pale, so . . . dead. I freeze. My emotions overwhelm me. My one and only wish . . . is it granted?

“I love you. Truly, I do. Please  . . .” Tears stream from your face. Your knees buckle, and you crumple to the ground. Your hand clutches your heart, as if you’re holding the pieces of it together.

Your whole body is shaking from the strength of your anguish. For several minutes, all you can do is sob. And all I can do is watch.

Then you whisper, “Please . . . understand. It's time to let go. Farewell.”

Farewell . . . farewell . . .  farewell. I can’t hear anything but the last word you uttered.

The word I should have said to you, all those years ago . . .

You’re looking up at me beneath my window.

Tears stream down your face, but I could make out your smile. It's faint, but it's there.

I cry, and I watch your figure leaving me behind.

Farewell.

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There goes that young man again.

I wonder what he does in that old abandoned hospital. He's been going there every day for the past three years.

Oh well, whatever it is, today would be the last day. That building gets torn down tomorrow.

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The miniscule particles of sand stopped falling . . . . . . . . .

I am in a room, watching the sand in the hourglass not moving at all.

And I count.

I count the years, months, days, minutes, and seconds since the day you first held me.

. . . . . . . . .

I look out the lone window, through the hazy glass, and I don't see you.

And I know, the sand in the hourglass will never fall again.

Fare well.