Dream-Giver

Do you hate me?
Your voice still stirs and echoes in my soul. I remember the day when you had first asked me that question. You were looking up at me with wide eyes that were filled with even more life than mine. I remember holding your hand as an answer. What could I have said when I didn’t even know? I hated you because ever since we found out about your cancer, the trouble of having to look after you, giving you what you needed, prevented me from living my own life. Your life became mine…but still, I persevered because I loved you too much.
The two weeks we spent together, carrying on with our lives as if nothing had happened seem naïve now. The burden of having to pretend that this wasn’t happening was my heaviest one. Smiling, when I was sad, laughing when I wasn’t happy. But at least, you were happy.
Then, fate destroyed what we had. I vividly remember the day that you collapsed in the grocery store. And for the first time for as long as I can remember, I cried. It was selfish of me to do so. You were the one who was entitled to show sadness, show emotion, show tears. Not me.
A few days after you were taken to the hospital, I visited you and I could already see the change in the colour of your skin. You were thin―haggard even. It was almost as if you were a corpse―half-dead and waiting for your angel of death to come for you. It had taken me so long to see you because I was unable to tear myself away from the toils of my everyday obligations. Maybe I let my work get ahead of me on purpose so I wouldn’t see you, or maybe everything was so hectic that I really didn’t have the time to be there for you. I don’t know.
I brought a bouquet of flowers to cheer you up; you thanked me and told me to bring my ear closer to yours. Your voice was soft. It was almost inaudible, but I heard what you told me that day. Then, with the sun passing the horizon, you asked of me one last favour.
Kill me.
I told myself that I couldn’t. Immediately, I refused and turned away. I tried to not think of even doing such a thing for you, but the thought of being free tempted me. If I fulfilled what you wanted, if I was free, I would be unbound by the shackles which restrained me to you, I would live my life again.
Powerless to face the devil within me on my own, I finally turned my face away from the floor and looked into your eyes. One look at your reassuring face caused my demons to flee. You were once again full of life, sure of the decision you made. It was what you wanted. I smiled weakly and complied with your wish.
Sneaking out that night, I carried you in my arms as I took you to our place: the surreal lake where we shared a myriad of fond memories together. I grasped your body tighter against mine and I looked up. Heaven was obscured behind a black veil which either subtly warned us of our insolence or acted as veneration to our vale of tears.
With fresh droplets of melancholy forming in my eyes, I walked over to the water, taking your body with me. Then, you asked me that same question again.
Do you hate me?
I shook my head. I feigned a smile.
Carrying your body with my hands supporting your head, I reverently lowered you into the water. My brows furrowed. My head, my heart, my soul began to ache. You grasped my arm and looked up at me with calm eyes. Eyes that said more than words. You thanked me, you said you loved me, and you were happy.
Without another moment of our prolonged suffering and repentance, I brought your body underneath the water and waited until I felt your heartbeat gradually slow …then stop. I released my hands then brought them to my eyes.
What you told me in your hospital room still lingers within me.
I am your dream-giver, as you are mine. We ended the pains that we both started and we’ll never forget what the other has done. You will give me a chance to move on and no longer suffer, but above all, I am giving you another chance at life. Live.