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How dark and thin
The blood that swirls from no clear spring.
Salty dew on my forehead, a heavy breath beneath the mask
Your pulse audibly racing against my heartbeat
Palpable life slipping between the pores of soaked gauze.
Who are you and why now?
Who am I and why here?
Your blood against my flesh like a final cling to human life
A past, but not future.
Anticipated peace as the monitor will soon be silent.
In a millionth of a second, the turmoil of the blood hits my blind hand.
A clamp. A stitch. A sigh. A future.
You’ll never know.
I’ll never forget.
Contributors I am the sole author.
Funding The authors have not declared a specific grant for this research from any funding agency in the public, commercial or not-for-profit sectors.
Competing interests None declared.
Patient consent for publication Not required.
Provenance and peer review Not commissioned; internally peer reviewed.
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