An old man is dying, approaching his final hour. Illness has deprived him of the ability to communicate. He can only blink now. His physical body has surrendered. Only his soul can speak. And these are the words it speaks to the wife by his bedside: his life partner, soul mate, best friend and fellow pillar of the temple they had built.  If we’re lucky, we might all share something like this:

Through my eyes, you remain the same

these eyes of mine unchanged

catching you in the same light as the day we met

yet forever glimpsing you in different ways

This only part of me not withered, aged, broken or diseased

These windows to my soul

Smeared only by tears

that ripple a blue and tranquil surface

that spill, and run and taste like salt on the lips

these eyes that blink the language they now must speak

once for no, twice for yes, three times for ‘I love you’

and soon they will close, and stop talking

So look now into these eyes of a young man

And ignore the ravaged clothes that surround them

Afford me one last look at your untouchable face

Allow my eyes to smile one final time

Permit me to hold your gaze – and blink three times

Stare back at me and say nothing

I know. I know.

Now close them for me, draw the curtains

Bring me the peace you brought my heart

And in momentary darkness, there you remain

And in the light, forever the same