Michael loves Ben with a passion; more than life itself.
Those are trite and much used words but for Michael they are true. Without Ben in his life it would be like turning off a switch and never have it go on again; to live in a world of darkness with no light to show the way. To never feel his breath when he whispers words of love, to never feel his hands caress his body, to never feel his lips lovingly and fleetingly touch his.
He knows that one day this will happen, that the love of his life, his reason for being will no longer be here. So with every word spoken, every touch felt, every kiss savored, he locks these memories away to be bought out when he no longer has the real thing. To be remembered, to be treasured, to be devoured when in that darkness; knowing that there is no one walking this earth that could ever make him feel that way again, he has his memories of his Ben.
Memories. I don’t want memories. I want the real thing. I want to taste his lips on mine, feel his knowing hands as they explore my body, sense the warmth of his breath against my skin as he whispers my name.
I talk to him as I watch him sleeping, listening to the steady beeps of the machines that surround him. I tell him that before I met him I had a life, but I hadn’t lived. I had dreams, but before I saw him I didn’t know what those dreams were.
I tell him of the holidays I have planned for us, next to lakes, on a quiet island; places far away where it will seem like we are the only two people in the world.
I tell him that every moment we have had together holds a special meaning; the good moments far outweighing the bad. But I talk to him about them all; hoping that perhaps something I say might penetrate his mind and might bring him back to me.
I tell him about my day, all of which I make up as I go along, because the last 5 days have been spent sitting here, in this room. I tell him of something Hunter had said that I know would make him laugh.
I tell him how I try to wake up every morning before him, so I can spend a few unguarded moments looking at him, taking in his beauty as he sleeps. I even tell him of the surprise birthday party I have planned for him, which of course brings back memories of another surprise party that went so horribly wrong. I tell him that I can’t imagine what my life would have been like if he hadn’t come back to me after that, when he told me that the way he had hurt me was far worse than the fears he had about his health.
I wonder out loud what our lives would have been like if that needle I once held in my hand had slipped, that I had never said "I do" in that bar in Canada. I talk to him about anything and everything and then I start again, pulling out more and more memories of looks, of touches or words said, until I can talk no more.
My mind and body feel numb and I wonder how much longer I can do this. I want to yell at him to wake up, to tell him that I am not ready to spend the rest of my life with only memories.
I run my fingers over his cold hand, hoping that the warmth from mine may somehow seep into him. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the rhythmical beating of his heart, I taste the salt of my tears as they run down my face and I know that I will sit here forever - talking, remembering, dreaming, if it would only bring him back to me.