The Selfish Side of Someone Else's Death He sat there motionless upon his bed. The pillows looked more plump than he did. The blinds let little light linger upon his fragile figure. He was barely awake but he knew I was there. ‘When I die,’ he told me, ‘that will be beautiful.’ I stood confused and lost, unsure of what to say. The only thought within my head: ‘I’ve never been to a funeral.’ I hope he won’t be my first. My virgin bedside vigil. I clambered for a towel or an excuse to dry my tears, the salt soaking my skin. He took a breath and the dryness gripped his throat. He choked, hoarsely, on bottled air. Every breath sounded spoken. Every breath said ‘Secrets’. I looked him in the eyes and I noticed the blue had faded. They used to be azure but now they were grey. I dropped the towel, forgetting myself, and said… ‘But I’d miss you.’