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Over The Moon

Updated on May 5, 2016

I Hate You But I Love You

One of my first memories is with her. It seemed fitting that so would my last memory. It was strange to think at how far apart we had been before I got called in.

I was in a dead end job. My childhood fantasies of working in space was all that it was, a fantasy. It was just a stomach ache. I just needed to get some pills subscribed because the pain wouldn't go away. I was a little surprised when the doctor asked me to do a couple of tests. But everything was still fine. I was still calm. Why wouldn't I be?

But then she suggested a screening.

Probably nothing but just to make sure...

It wasn't nothing.

In fact it had spread so fast that there was...nothing they could do.

Nothing?

Nothing?!

Surely, I had cried, surely there must be something they could do. And yes they had replied, there was something they could do. They could make sure... it didn't hurt.

What didn't hurt? I had asked, my mind still refusing to accept what was before me and my future. This couldn't happen to me. This didn't happen to people like me, I was normal, I was...I was ill.

It would only take a month.

But in all that time, as soon as she heard the news she has been here with me.

But you're art, I had told her. My art can wait she had replied strictly and disbelievingly. Like the notion she would rather be painting and drawing instead of being by my side every single second of the day, doting on me was stupidity.

I was often stupid compared to her. So I didn't question her logic. She spend ages by my side, reading my books to me and children books from our past.

Do you remember when, was her favorite line.

We looked at photo's of us together. Though so often we were furthest apart. She had told me she was sorry but her being sorry was a silly thing, after all what had she needed to be sorry for? It was I who should be sorry. Sorry that I had wasted my life. She was sorry for that as well.

So here I am.

She is at my side right now, never leaving me. She said she wouldn't. She read me our last childhood book called Over The Moon. It used to be one of my favorites.

"You think I would have gotten there if I really tried?" I asked her softly.

She then smiled at me and what she had been doing in her spare time not in my eyesight became clear. She held up her painting. It was a landscape, with me drawn in such creativity and color and I was on the moon.

"You already are Abby" She said.

I smiled.

And then I cried.

And so did she.

We both are not sure whether it was from grief or happiness.

But I do like to think it was from both.


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