I couldn't see him yet.

Not like this.

For as long as I'd known Jason, running has been his life. Sometimes running practice even took priority over our dates. Sometimes he forgot about our plans. Running came first. That's ok. I've always admired his dedication and his passion. He is wholly devoted to his passion. I've made changes in my life to be more dedicated because of him. He's changed me. For the better, I hope.

But now, he's lying there in the hospital bed. Hopeless. Kind of pitiful. I resent myself for not sitting by his side. He needs me right now. But I can't. I can't stand to see the man I love like this.

He has no passion.

He is unwhole.

When I first got to the hospital--I didn't even have time to put on my makeup--I thought I was a wreck. Then I saw him. He was laying on the bed, staring out the window. I don't think he heard me when I opened the door. I saw his legs. Or at least where his legs used to be. I couldn't go in. I couldn't be the one to bear his hurt.

I can't be the one. I'm not strong enough.

As I'm losing myself in my thoughts, an old man sits next to me. I try to contain myself. I don't have makeup to ruin, but I still have trails of dried tears down my cheeks. I steal a glance at the elderly man as I wipe my face with my sleeves--and noticed he had the same stripes running down his face. Fresh tears, actually.

Do I console him?

I don't know him.

Really I need consoling myself.

The old man interrupts my internal debate. "Being the strong one is hard, is it not?"

I stay quiet. I'm not sure if he's speaking to me. He has to be really. I'm the only one in the hallway, aside from nurses rushing back and forth.

"Is he your husband?" He didn't sound as somber as he looked. In fact, his tone was somewhat chipper.

"No. Fiancé." I know that my pinched voice would seize if I spoke too much. Still, I shouldn't be rude. "Who are you here for?"

"My wife. Brave soul. She's been battling lymphoma for eight years now. But she never stopped living." His smile widens. He stares up and to the left. Light glares off his circular, wire-rimmed glasses.

My chest is tight, but my curiosity grows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean she didn't ever let her condition stop her from doing what she loves." His eyes squint. The little crow's feet at the corners of his eyes grow deeper. "She loves to write poetry."

Jason loves to run. You can't do that without legs.

Silence falls between us for a few minutes. His presence distracts me for the moment. At least for now I can focus on looking put-together.

"As death tightens his grip round my throat

And darkness surrounds my sight

I see you, my dear Love

See only you, my dear Light

As death pulls me under

And blue skies turn black

You remain true, my dear Love,

My dear Light brings blue back

Though I leave this journey behind

My dearest One helps me take flight

You prepare me for the departure, my dear Love

Please take my love with you, my dear Light."

The words resonate in my head. I forget about Jason for just a moment and turn the words over in my head. It seems so dark, but at the same time, there is so much hope and love seeping through.

The old man inclines his head toward me. "She couldn't hold a pencil for the passed three and a half years, so I had to write for her. But she never stopped. And I never stopped her. I did everything I could to help her. I wrote as she sang her sweet mind to me." He looks to me again, eyes freshly streaming behind his large spectacles.

I can't help myself. "Is she going to be ok?" I don't know this man. Or who he is. But I feel a part of his life now.

He lays his tender hand on my shoulder. "She passed just a few minutes ago, dear. But she wrote that poem for me last night." He sniffs, the waterfall never ceases from his eyes, and yet he smiles as if his world hadn't just ended. "She wanted to leave me with her love before she left. Because I gave her mine for our whole life together." His hand leaves my shoulder, and he stands with some effort. "You need to be his strength when he has none, dear. Be his light."

Without another word, he turns and leaves. I was stunned. A complete stranger entered my life, demanded strength from me that I don't have, and left just as quickly as he entered. I should be turned off by the whole ordeal. But I'm changed. I know what I need to do.

I knock on the door. Jason doesn't say anything, but I slip in and sit in the chair, scooting it to his bedside. I grab his hand, but he continues staring out the window. He's looking to the future. And his face remains cold as stone.

"Sweetheart."

He doesn't turn to look at me. He continues staring off to the future, just outside his window. darkness surrounds his vision.

"Jason. I know you hurt. But I'm not going to let you stop running." I steady my voice as best as I can.

His brows furrow.

"I don't know how, but we'll get you back on the track as soon as we're able. You're never giving up." My voice strengthens. I almost believe myself. "And I'm never giving up on you."

Jason stares out the window, at his future. And he reveals a slight smile.