you gave all you had

Taeil didn't come back the next night, or the night after that. In fact, three weeks have passed without any sign of him, and I'm left with a sinking heart as his words return to haunt me. I don't really know how long I can keep coming back here. 

What if this is it? If this is how it ends? He never comes back, off on his adventure that I know nothing about, while I sit counting down the days 'til I can see the stars again. It's a depressing thought, but it's one that could be all too real, and honestly... it's frightening. For this boy to be such a huge and important part of my life, and then just disappear from the face of the Earth... I don't know how I would feel if it's true.

I miss him horribly.

I miss his deep laughter, I miss the weirdness that just rolls off his tounge, the kindness and consideration in his touch. I... I miss his presense. Even just sitting next to me is enough to calm me down, with him... and as it draws nearer and nearer to my surgery I need him more and more.

... But... it's today.

The date has crept up on me with every night I've thought about Taeil - I've been so focused on missing him that time seems to have gone quicker. To say I'm nervous would be so much of an understatement, as all that's running through my mind is this is it this is it this is it, palms sweating, breath shaking, just trying to imagine all of the things I have missed in my time in darkness. And trying my best not to imagine what my own face looks like.

My mother sits next to me, probably wearing the tight lipped smile my sister has been telling me she wears permanently. Her hand is intertwined with mine, but all I want is for it to be his - large and warm and gentle circles on my thumb, squeezing and tickling to cheer me up and take my mind off it. He would tell jokes, prod me, trace my scars and whisper that you're beautiful no matter what because really, underneath his humour he's just a huge ball of grease. A huge ball of grease that I could really do with right now.

My mother's sigh brings me back from my mind. Every now and then she will huff, and I hear her shuffle in her seat, probably crossing her legs in a different position to reawaken feeling. We've been sitting here for hours now. My sister already had to leave for work, with a lingering hug and chase kisses all over my face, and though she didn't say anything I could feel the wetness on her cheeks as they brushed against mine.

Hospital waiting rooms were never my favourite place even before the accident. But now, with only sounds and smells to go by, they're even worse. I can't read one of the bland magazines left on the end table two years out of date, can't watch the clock, can't observe my fellow patients as they find ways of their own to pass the time. It's just my mother's hand. The 'how are you feeling?' question that starts to grate on my patience by the fifth time asked. And the uncomfortable plastic that cements to the back of my legs and smacks everytime I try to unstick myself.

"I can't believe these bastards are making us wait so long, they should have picked you up from home in an ambulance