“Meet me at the dock.” He whispered as his hand softly touched mine. “Okay.”
Living at the seaside, it was the best place to specifically meet with someone. I’m this case I am to meet with him, my love.
My love has cancer. It’s unusual at this young age, but possible. The doctors say he doesn’t have much time left: just about 2 months.
Not a day goes by of me not worrying. Every time he has a coughing fit, or can’t catch his breath, I panic with the thought of him not being able to starting breathing again this time.
The day has come to meet him at the dock. He’s already waiting for me when I arrive. He gives one cough before standing back straight to smile at me.
I can’t control my love-struck smile as I approach him. His smile started to droop. There was suddenly a crazy look in his eyes, as if he’s realizing something. He then collapsed, right there On the dock.
I raced to him, my heart jolting with fear. He’s on the ground, gasping and coughing. I wrapped my arms around him, lifting his head off of the wooden boards.
I scream for help repeatedly, looking around, hoping somebody will come. “Shhh, it’s ok,” he croaked, “let me die listening to the water under the dock.”
This time I couldn’t control my love-struck tears as I obeyed his wish and held him tight, listening to the water at the dock.