Waiting

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Your hands feel cold and soft, I hold them, tight.
Your breathing slows, each breath inhaled, a fight.
Always assuming we’d have tomorrow.
Our days numbered; today ends in sorrow.
I sit in silence, still. Watching. Waiting.
The moment I dreaded is approaching.
Seconds ticking so slowly, yet so fast.
Precious moments slip away, they won’t last.
I keep waiting and watching and hoping…
Nothing has felt this excruciating.

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