This is the time of year where all I can hear in my head is that word, over and over. January 28th, I have to go home, I'm sick. January 29th, the last time I talk to him. He's fine, his friend Alex is coming by tomorrow. January 30th. The nurse. Come back now. He is already gone. Just a body on a bed surrounded by family and friends. Breathing because they're making him breathe. His heart still strong, everything else gone, even his eyes.
It never ends. I haunt the hospital and the walk from the subway to his bed. You can see my ghost every night.