Today you are the color Blue, and you are happy. You talk as bright as the atmosphere and sound like the horizon above the ocean. I look at you like you’re my world, but you look at me like I’ll drag you to hell.
I tell you every day about yourself and your special place in my grasp, but you never listen and it’s like you’re not even here. You hate the color white and the absence of sound because it runs in your family. You don’t like me in your life and I understand it.
What I don’t understand is that day you started smoking. Or, I do and I don’t because I am me, and you are everything. You always wondered what it was like to taste smoke, and when you did it was like you were your mother; she was young too. You don’t like it—I can tell, but when I tell you to stop, you’re miles away with your cloudy eyes in a daydream where I don’t exist.
It’s your birthday when you realize I’m angry, and I am. I catch your breath and hold it because I can and your face turns red and your throat burns before I stop myself. I stop because it’s my fault and not yours, and you are everythingand I am me.
You don’t tell anyone about our fight, but you can’t stop breathing so hard—soharsh and I feel angry again. I draw blood and you cry until someone hears us, but I can’t let go. You know this is wrong and you’ve changed, but you don’t think I love you when I do.
They tell you that I’m killing you, but you’re hopeful now because Life proved you wrong when you thought It didn’t care, but I haven’t the heart to tell you that you’re too far out of Its reach because yours is dying. You’re a shadow of yourself, but you still look like Blue and your eyes are as wide as the earth.
It’s hot outside when we fight again. I won’t feed you and you can’t stop cringing when I do because you are struggling to keep yourself alive. You used to love the sound of the ocean inside a shell, but all it reminds you of is your own body because you know it’s all the same thing. You’re clinging to them like a stray, and you’re hurting me. How it hurts, this rejection, but you know because you are swelling and you are vomiting. I am losing parts of myself and you are losing weight. We are both fighting, but I am patient and you are heartbroken.
You know when it’s time because I drew blood again and you feel like breathing is a chore. I hear you talking when I leave a kiss on your brow and you want to cry, but you don’t. You are quiet and you are White, like the walls and like the smoke. You are so much smaller than before, but I don’t mind because you are everything and I am me—you are you and I am Death.