힐링 (Healing)

But there is yesterday, when he is far away, and I'm sitting in the warm library listening to Andrea Bocelli, and his sweetness to me is like the sweet lemon green tea I'm drinking. The spring sunlight, reflecting across the walls and all of the books in the room, dances about in a game of hide and seek. A game like the one he plays, coming around sometimes to dance across my heart as if it is the golden title of one of those bound books.
Oh, yes, there is yesterday, when I am bent over my desk in the deepness of the late April night, window cracked slightly. The scent of blooming flowers from the garden below drifts in with the soft breeze; and I imagine this is the kind of softness his cheek must feel like. I have unearthed my art, so long forgotten in the push and pull, drag and drain of this world, and steadily I sketch, cut, paste, color, whilst a beloved indie song whispers in the background. I smile, filling with warmth as the future glimmers in the distance, and I think, for that instant, I connect with him in some way.
Yesterday, yesterday, yesterday, when the muggy May morning dawns gray and bleak like the expression I had when I heard that news. I almost cried, and avoided the thought; a day when the smallest flicker of hope was put out by the pouring rain of "it can't be helped". All of the celebratory congratulations seem quite misplaced when I consider this, his fate. 
Yesterday's noisy night, spent in one place, watching the empty black sky, and listening to his slowing breath and slurring words as he gently dozes off, the early to bed, early to rise type. In a startled moment he murmurs foreign words and I wonder what he has said to my voice awakening him. Drunk on the sadness, frustration, confusion, my lips form words, but I cannot remember all that I said. An impulsive venture, a gamble, filled with the type of honesty that is felt only on the windowsill of the cardiac ward at two in the morning. The kind of heartbeat that races and slows with conviction.

And that was yesterday.