"You really haven't changed."

"...No."

He lay on the straw mattress, hands speckled with liver spots.

Veins, wrinkles.

My smooth hands looked so odd in his old ones.

"I'm sorry I left. I missed you."

He croaked.

"It was for the better."

"You're mad."

My back straightened.

"No."

It was forced. But I couldn't be angry. Not here.

"I understand."

His sad smile. 

"Don't be angry.

Please. I don't want that to be the last image of you."

Silence.

"I love you."

Louder silence.

"I'm sorry, that was selfish.

You should be mad."

I stayed until his hands turned cold.

A great wave reared up in me, 

and brought itself crashing into my hands.

A single tear separated itself from the end of my nose.

I love you too.