Caretaker

I spent the night crying. To you it seemed like I was searching for someone to love me. You took this in the most basic way. Said someday that person would come, I'd find them with time. But you don't get it. I've found that person. And I'm watching them disappear, fading right before my eyes.

I see her. I know she's there, at times she is truly present. I've known her. I've been a part of her. Now I'm searching for any part of her.

What if I lose her? What if my future never sees a glimpse of her? When she's gone, does her light fade away? Do the memories remain or do they fall out of the universe as quickly as they fall out of her head? If it is my job to carry her, who will carry me? What if I lose the strength, what if I lose the words and the thoughts, the structure crumbles until only a frame remains? What happens then, do we both crumble into the emptiness; where do we go if no one remembers?

They tell you how the disease takes hold. How the world begins to slow down, until the patient is stuck in a past destroying your future. The world doesn't tell you that the disease lives in the caretaker as well. They don't tell you how strong the need to freeze time will squeeze, they don't tell you how quickly and constantly your heart will break. Everyone looks for a cure for the patient, where's the cure for me?

Put on a smile. Fake the positive. Nod, "everything happens for a reason." Let them believe they are helping. Let them think they have a cure. Let them pretend that their band-aid words have stopped the hurting. Let them believe - because they need this.

Relax into your role. Caretaker. Here for her, here for them. Never here for yourself.