My love, are you comfortable? Yes, here is your blanket, here is your tea. Make sure you stay warm. I tuck you into the sheets, the down quilt a soothing pressure on your chest. You are wrapped tightly, only your thin, skeletal arms free to move. Thick pillows prop you up, so your eyes can follow my pacing movements. I stop and look into your eyes, and I shudder. I don’t tell you, but they remind me of those of a dead fish, so pale and watery.

You tell me how young I look. Your voice is no more than a whisper, forcing me to come closer. I sit on the bedside and take your hands in mine. Your tiny hands drown in mine, your skin like ancient paper on my calluses. My lips press against your pale knuckles, and my eyes trace the dark spots on the back of your hand, as if trying to find some meaning there. Your veins show through your thin skin like rolling blue worms, and I try to catch them with my teeth until you cry out.

I look up to see a small tear roll out of your watery eyes and disappear into a furrow on your face. I stare in bewilderment, wondering when your face had become so etched with wrinkles. A frown appears, making them worse, and you purse your thin lips. You ask me when I had become such a monster.

You seem surprised by my anger. When I throw the teapot, smashing it against the wall, you yelp. The steaming tea infuses the room with the aroma of chamomile. I snarl and pace the room, and you think I look strange and horrid. You struggle against the blankets, but you can’t move. They are too tight, and you, alas, are too weak. The years have taken their toll.

Do you remember when we met? You nod yes, your head lolling back onto the pillows. Your eyes are half-closed, and your breath is shallow. I paint you a picture in your memory, telling you the blues, reds, and golds. You can see the sunlight upon the water. I watch a smile cross your face. You are young again. We are young together. We make love on the sand, our tanned bodies intertwined, the sun burning at our backs. We look like silhouettes. Remember the train. You remember my face in the crowd. I sit next to you, and we talk for hours. It’s years later. We are married, only just so, and that week is our paradise, which I still cherish. You remember our argument about the treatment.

I never told you, but I got it that night. It was hard to keep the appearance of age with you. It got boring as I watched you age, dreaming of sunsets and beaches. That’s why I left you, don’t you see? My love, I am back, but you disgust me.

Your shoulders shake, a moan wretched from your lips. You tell me I am cruel. I place a hand on your face, and tell you that I only tell the truth. I tell you the wonders I have seen while you have rotted here in this old house. You wonder why I have returned. Standing at the foot of the bed, hands clasped in front of me, I tell you I am leaving. I’m traveling with the others, the others who have received the treatment. We are bored. We want to see the stars. Some think we are gods, but we are young yet. Maybe we will create something, I tell you.

You are still sobbing. I am surprised to see that you still put on mascara as I watch it darken your wrinkles. You look like a caricature. You whisper something. My face is next to yours, your warm breath on my cheek. You whisper again. One last kiss. Staring into your eyes, and I see the setting sun from the window reflected in them. I think of sand, I think of water, I think of you. Our lips meet. I feel like an animal. My eyes close so I don’t have to see you.

I rip the covers off of you, freeing you from your prison. Your arms pull me closer as we kiss. Our clothing falls into heaps on the floor. I imagine you young and full, as I hold your bony frame covered in paper sack skin. Inside of you, I still find pleasure. With each thrust, I hear your hips crack. The pain and pleasure sends you into wild ecstasy, and you cry and moan like the girl you once were. I can tell you are climbing, almost at the peak of the mountain, your body shuddering against mine. My hands move up your spine, fingers tracing every bone. A final shout, a final shudder. You settle on me, surprising me with your weight. Bones from your hips dig in to my thighs. As gingerly as possible, I move from under you and place you on the bed.

I am naked and sobbing at the foot of your bed. You are quiet and look asleep. I know you are at peace. I didn’t tell you, but I am out of touch. Things don’t seem like they used to. We, the others and I, are lost. That is why we are leaving. I no longer feel at home. I dress in silence, and finish the tea that has gone cold on the bedside table. I kiss your forehead and turn off the light. I can almost hear you whisper good-bye.