I know you were still there.
I saw your silhouette under the covers, and I recognized your face as my eyes filled with tears. You were the same height, but you had gotten much thinner. You had the same arms, just weaker and frail. Your head, once covered, was now completely hairless, and your skin had gone from pale to icy white.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul, but yours were usually closed.
Sometimes I caught a glimpse of the man I knew, but I had to look long and hard. You were there, but not near the surface. It was as if your spirit was withdrawing deeper and deeper within your body. Perhaps it was trying to escape the sickness that consumed your frame. I hope you felt happier, where ever that was. But selfishly, I still wanted you with me.
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