• I sat there, in that chair, next to your bed. Our hands were locked, our hearts so close. I could see every breath you took; the short, raspy breaths continuing only because of the oxygen supply they hooked you up on. You looked so forlorn, eyes closed but mouth open. Almost like you wanted to say something.

    That day, that sad day. A blur of headlights, sirens, and screams. Ten deaths, a hundred and twenty-seven injuries. You were one of the lucky few to survive, but I'm pretty sure you would have rather died than stay in a coma for six weeks.

    A constant rhythm of beeps from the heart monitor kept me assured, but still nervous. Each time there was a delay I would grip your hand tighter. Each time the beats sped up I put my other hand on your chest to calm you down, even though you couldn't feel it.

    I sat there, in that chair. And wondered to myself, "Will she ever wake up?"

    My grip loosened. The heart monitor began to fade.

    Goodnight, my dear.