The Vending Machine Only Had Water

they let me stay past visiting hours because nobody else is on the ward. so it's me and the corridor and a vending machine that only had water left, two rows of it, everything else sold out.

she's asleep, finally. the good kind, where her face lets go of whatever it holds all day. I watched the monitor numbers for an hour like they were something I could read.

we've been together long enough that I know how she takes her coffee and which side of the bed and the exact face she makes right before she cries. I didn't know I knew the sound of her breathing until I sat out here counting it.

funny what love turns into at 2am under these lights. not flowers. just me, memorizing the rhythm of someone breathing so I'd notice the second it changed.

I bought a water I didn't want so the machine would make a noise and the hallway wouldn't be so quiet.

I'm not scared, that's not it. it's that I finally get what people mean when they say they'd trade places. I would. that's the whole thing. I'd take the bed and give her the plastic chair and the bad water and the long hallway and call it more than even.

she just shifted in her sleep. I held my breath until she settled.