JAIMIE D. KRYCHO

I watch you, quiet, as a cacophony must be ringing in your ears only

Your every cell wars. Every soldier is deployed at last, for the final, desperate charge.

All I hear is machines ticking and clicking,

A small “beep,”

Your breathing, and the sounds of your pain as you fight for air.

I take your hand, quiet, and what I remember most is not the sound of your agony

But the paperthin feel of your skin as I rubbed my thumb across it,

Carefully avoiding the purple mountainous bruise that stains half its breadth,

And how I felt warmth, love, and I think you did, too,

Because

You fell asleep.

Written in grief May 31, 2023, 5 days after his passing