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I’m not ready to die. I don’t think I ever will be. But I’ve accepted that I am and that my days with Abel are numbered. Which only makes me want to make each moment count even more.
Some people get entire lifetimes to love each other. To make mistakes and learn from them. To start families and watch them grow. But I only get this. This small fragment of time where everything is temporary. And maybe I should be bitter that this is all I get. But then I look at the man next to me and I can’t feel anything but blessed.
I’ve lived more in the last few weeks with Abel than I had in the nineteen years before him. He saved me in ways I don’t think he’ll ever truly understand. In ways I’ll never be able to tell him.
“Pick a letter.” Abel knocks his hip against mine as we make our way down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of the van.
“P,” I announce without thought.
“P,” he repeats, looking around.
There are several restaurants and shops lining the street and it’s only moments before Abel locates a restaurant that starts with a P.
“Paragon.” He stops, pointing across the street.
“Fish Market.” I smile up at him. “We haven’t had seafood yet.”
“Here’s hoping Colorado has good seafood.” He chuckles, pulling me across the street toward the restaurant.
