Every atom of the universe is tugging at my soul, telling me it’s time, that I need to leave him, leave this life. It feels as though a maternal figure has her hands on my shoulders and arms, gently prising my grip off reality. She isn’t being cruel, but I feel she is leading me off a cliff into the abyss.

I can’t leave him. I can’t.

I told us only death would separate us, and I suppose that’s true. I cling to him like he is my air and reason for being.

This maternal, insistent sense tells me I don’t need it, that I don’t need to gasp for air anymore.

I know peace awaits me on the other side. But this agonising sensation of transition is too much for anyone to bear.

I see him open his eyes in the morning. They’re lined with pain but the way the sunlight shines on them through the blinds is beautiful. It falls upon his skin the way I want to touch him and he lies there, basking in the warm light. He makes himself coffee. I long for the scent of it, and the fuzziness of the sofa throw, and the wind to ruffle my hair if I opened a window. I long for the cold rain to kiss me. When this all happens again I won’t be me anymore.

But time is moving forward and so must I.