All I see is darkness.

I know you’re there with me. Though my sight has been stolen from me in cold blood, yours is warm, and I can hear your heart beating, beating in sync with mine.

“It won’t be much longer,” you tell me, and now I can add your voice to the list of things that keep me grounded.

Your hand in mine; I feel the weathered skin on your palm and the scar that runs up your forearm. I can’t remember anymore, is that scar the color of blood, or am I mistaken? Is it black, just like the darkness that holds me prisoner?

My memories of your appearance are fading, becoming fuzzy and soft around the edges. Is your hair light brown, or a dark blond? Which Eyebrow has a nick in that refuses to grow back? Do the glasses perched precariously on your nose have a green or brown rim?

Your eyes are etched into my memory like a fire’s flame consumes a forest. I think that when I am six feet underground, the last thing I will think of will be your eyes, and when I wake up in whatever comes after, your eyes will be the first thing to cross my mind.

Heavy footfalls down the corridor, and I imagine a thick brown boot, maybe leather. If the owner has a dog, they must keep these shoes hidden, or else their prized leather boots might be chewed up in a whimsy.

“Son, can I speak to you?” His voice is deep and raspy, this boot owner, and the end of his question goes down instead of up. Why does that terrify me more than the darkness that has a chain around my ankle?

You stand up, your warm hand leaving mine. The anger rushes through my body, a deep and furious red, just like my blood. I am not weak. I am not challenged. Yes, I cannot see, but that does not make me any less deserving of knowing. Whatever boot-man has to say, he can say to me too.

I get to my feet, not swaying, not shaking, not limping. I am already living in darkness; I do not deserve to be kept in the dark with this too.

The man with the boots sighs. His voice changes to something softer, more pitying.

“Are you sure you want to find out like this?”

You squeeze my hand. I squeeze it back.

“Yes.”

All I see is darkness.

Your heart is like a piano, the notes deep and slow, a sure and beautiful sound. I wonder, what instrument have you assigned to my heart? Is it a violin, beautiful and intricate? Or perhaps, a harpsichord, the music fast and full of possibilities.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more fearful and terrified piano solo than this. The keys playing so fast, surely it can’t be a human pianist. Maybe it’s the darkness, playing the notes of your heart as if it owns the entire universe.

The darkness is selfish. In a ravenous frenzy, it swallows up the whole world, leaving nothing behind. Nothing but a few crumbs, a few little pieces for me to grasp onto and hold close to my chest.

Most of all I cherish your eyes. One of the only things the darkness has allowed me to keep, a flame that burns my whole world over again and again, only this flame is good because it keeps the darkness at bay.

I wonder how your eyes looked when he told us. Were they surprised? Wide with shock, getting bigger until they became the only thing on your face? Or maybe they were angry, the fires igniting behind, ready to burn.

I know from the way your body tenses that they’re overflowing with fear, an intoxicating liquid that spills over like poison, tainting everything it touches. Maybe the darkness will capture you too, keep you locked away, just like me.

I hear two words from him; the rest swim away in a sea of things that will most likely crash back, but how can I worry about that?

_Heart failure. _My heart is not a violin, or a harpsichord, or even something small, like a ukulele. Mine is broken, like the stool for a piano that’s been thrown in a fury.

Yes, my heart will give out sooner rather than later, and the darkness will finally lay claim on my soul, taking me away forever.

All I see is darkness.

Darkness has taken everything away from me, stripped me of my life, my dignity and my soul.

But there, just there on the horizon, I see two magnificent stars, calling my name, beckoning me to come home to them.

I know they’ve been waiting for me for so very long, and I’ve already overstayed my welcome here in the dark’s parlor. But going to the stars would mean leaving you.

Please, don’t cry, don’t stain those worn cheeks with tears for my soul. I will miss you beyond what words can describe, and whatever waits for me after will not be complete until you join me.

You will be alright here, for the darkness does not lay claim on you, and your time here will not be a prison like it was for me.

I will be alright, wherever I am going, because I am certain that I will always remember your eyes.