So who's going watch you die ?

And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time. As I stared at my shoes in the ICU that reeked of piss and 409 and I rationed my breaths as I said to myself that I'd already taken too much today. As each descending peak on the LCD took you a little farther away from me. Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines in a place where we only say goodbye. It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds. But I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all and I looked around at all the eyes on the ground as the TV entertained itself. 'Cause there's no comfort in the waiting room. Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news and then the nurse comes round and everyone will lift their heads. But I'm thinking of what Sarah Said: That "love is watching someone die."