As I slowly walk to her bedside, I can't help but feel an imminent despair crawl its way into my heart and freeze me. A feeling that was foreign, but not exactly unwelcome. It was certainly disheartening, yet it felt almost wrong for it not to be there. Though, nothing could ever beat the helplessness I feel as I watch her tears, ones she had been trying to suppress, evidently come out as wracking sobs. I could not care any less about what kind of face we were both making, as all my worries lied with finally being able to hold her. To comfort her in my arms and wipe away her salty tears. .
Having made my way around to her side, relief pours into me and I feel the passionate need to touch her; to caress her cheek and feel her warmth against my skin. I wanted to confirm that she was there and I was there with her and that we were together and that this was not some fragile dream. And yet, somehow, even as we were making eye contact with each other and simply held each other's gazes, I felt dread. Like someone had poured cold water all over me. Our eyes interlocked with each other and gazed at each other with so much emotion, but was somehow felt completely hollow. Yes, a transparent and hollow gaze, as though our eyes are not looking at each other's anymore but, at nothing. At the space beyond our peripheral views. .
The need to touch her and comfort her felt even stronger and I could not hold back myself anymore, even as the space between my hand and her face lessened and my suspicions elevated, I did not care. I wished I had listened to the niggling voice in my heart, the one that told me to stop, but it was already too late to do anything. My hand was already moving, I could not stop it even if I wanted to. Sincerely, I wished I did stop because it was as if time had stopped completely as I stared, horrified and confused, as my hand completely traversed through her. Surely enough, I already knew what that meant.