To get from your house to yours, it took exactly 14 minutes and 12 seconds. Your mother always greeted me with a smile. Although over time she was only on the face, but not in the eyes.
You always left your door ajar exactly 2.3 cm. I do not think that you did it on purpose. It was just that something was wrong with the loot, and the door didn’t close just so much. I froze in one step from your room and heard how you cough, trying to determine how you feel today. I hate that every time I thought you were very sick, and I was right.
6 months, 17 days and 14 hours. So much has passed since the doctor told us about your illness. I sat there with your parents, listened to a man who spoke words like “final stage” and “leukemia”, and counted how many times he said “patient” as if it was your name (I have never hated the number 17 so much ).
The blood bank said that in one block 450 milliliters, and I watched as they inserted the needle into my hand and pumped the blood into a small plastic bag. It took exactly 5 minutes and 21 seconds, because I squeezed my hand very tightly.If I could give all my blood, if only you could feel better for just one day, I would give.
It's been 7 days, 12 hours and 14 minutes since the ambulance came for you. 6 days, 15 hours and 7 minutes since the doctors said that they can no longer help you. I count the spots on your hospital gown, my body covers yours, trying to pretend that all this is a bad dream, that we wake up and your skin will no longer be as thin as paper, and your eyes will not be so empty ... empty in the thousands of colors that I once counted there.
You speak loudly and with laughter that I am obsessed with numbers while I was counting. I wanted to tell you that you are wrong. My obsession is not numbers. My obsession is you. But I did not say anything. Because it was the first time you laughed for the last month, 3 weeks and 2 days.
Did you know that there is a theory that claims that once someone dies, his body weight drops sharply? It is not noticeable if you just do not hold him while he dies, praying to all the gods, so as not to lose him. It is just a touch. Like the weight of three pencils. But this is the moment when he leaves you.
21 grams This is the weight of the human soul.