Organized by Artist
it's time...Martha could distinguish whispers but no clear voices: four, maybe five unidentifiable faces were standing in the dark room, waiting. But on the edge of her bed, a familiar warmth and companion.it's time... in Scraps
More Like This
-It's time… she murmured just for him.
-No, not yet, Thomas leaned to peck her sweaty forehead, Not now, my dearest dear. A few locks of his ginger hair brushed her cheeks and she suddenly wondered when was the last time he left her bedside to rest or refresh. Her lips curled up in a weak smile at his words.
Knuckles whited by the disease, Martha's fingers gripped his sleeve to pull him closer.
-Tom, we… both met Death enough in our lives to recognize when it is coming…
Her chest rose and fell again. He could feel each of her breath on his own lips, each of her breath getting heavier than the previous one, each of her breath killing his sweet Patty.
-… and… I always knew… that I would go before you—
Thomas prayed for her. During hours. Far from any witness eye