I've never seen your face in this light before, the way the sun streams right through your hair, giving it almost a glow to outline your face. It's like one of those old paintings, and you're the saint. I've seen your eyes a thousand times, sometimes with too much makeup, other times with none at all, but always full of light, no matter what the circumstances. Now the light is paying its own tribute, and even with your eyes closed, it knows that you'll get the message, subtle, but bringing the faintest brightness to your otherwise darkened world. You lie there with such serenity it's hard to believe you won't ever get up again. As the monitors beep out the rhythm of life, I touch your hand one last time before I have to go to work. They covered all of my shifts except this one so that I could stay by your side. It's only four hours, and then I'll be back. I squeeze your hand, wishing with everything in me that you'll feel it and open your eyes to say goodbye, if not with words, then with a nod and a smile, but you just lie there. I look at your hand as I steal the warmth from it. If you were awake you would complain to me that my hands are too cold, like you always do. I hope you don't mind this time. I'll be back as soon as I can. Four hours, that's all.

I look back one last time as I open the door to leave, looking for something, some kind of sign. Four hours. I'll be back then.