Three Years

It's been three years. Three years of time not moving. People remain exactly where they were when I started this. I told myself a minute. Just one extra minute. But a minute turned to two, and two turned to a day and so on. Now, three years later, I'm the only one that's changed. A beard covers my once clean shaven face. Hair drapes to my shoulders and wrinkles have started to take hold of me. But she lies there, still perfect. Still lovely. Still alive. She told me to move on when she goes. But if I never let her go then I never have to move on. But to some level, it's cruel. Keeping her here for my own pleasure. I know I have to let her go, to stop her pain. I also know that once her pain stops, mine starts. Finally I make my peace lean in and kiss her on the cheek. With a wave of my hand the flow of time resumes. The machines hooked up to her start sounding off again. The nurses in the hall go about their business. She turns her head to look at me. I can see a tear forming in her left eye. She mouths the words "Thank you" and the inevitable flat line is heard. Time is a precious thing, it heals all, and it kills all. I feel my heart stop. For the whole world, time moves on. But for me it stops.