Motionless, lost in my thoughts, I lay in my bed.
A faint and constant beep sounds to my side, reminding me how weak my heart has become.
With my peripheral vision I catch a glimpse of an elderly man wheeling through the halls in his wheelchair.
Chances are, as the doctors have indicated, that man will outlive me.
Two weeks more I believe they said.

It’s strange though.
I thought that I’d be hoping for the end at this point.
My final breath.
But I find my life feeling incomplete.
That there’s so much still to be done.
That I may not yet rest.
I know my own fate though.

I’ve pondered on what my last words should be, if I get the chance to say them.
A summary of my life?
I’ll always be with you?
I love you?
Perhaps they will come naturally.
I’ve never been one for goodbyes.

My nurse, an older lady, maybe in her late sixties, enters my room and brings me water, aids me in eating, and waters the garden of flower bouquets brought in comfort me, all without speaking a word.
She never talks.
I’ve never liked her.
Outside, the setting sun slips under the horizon and a wave of sleepiness overcomes me.
I allow it to take me where it wants.
Sleep.
Very well.

I dream the dream as I do every night.
I see nothing but foggy blackness.
I hear the same, terrifying voice. Its words sound like they come from a corpse, long dead.
“Toooooonight,” it says sharply, “we meet.”

Then, I am conscious.
I do not open my eyes.
My heart monitor begins beeping madly.
I know