The sun just rose – you’re still sleeping on your side of the bed. You look the most peaceful in the morning. I reach for the alarm clock before it even rings. Your mood changes when your sleep is disrupted by that nasty alarm. I can’t have that – not today.
I step outside the room; I only have 30 minutes before I wake you up.
I go to the kitchen and start preparing your breakfast. Today, it’s going to be crispy bacon and eggs, sunny-side up – just how you like it. I hum lowly as I turn on the coffee maker. I look out the kitchen window and take a quick peek at the garden. I would usually go out and tend to the flowers – not today.
I am done making your breakfast. I still have 14 minutes, not bad!
I do a quick sweep on the rest of our small apartment with my eyes. Great – everything looks good and clean! I would normally busy myself with sweeping, wiping countertops, straightening books and figurines. On a normal day, I would be planning out which chore I would do first – not today.
I still have 10 minutes before your food gets cold. I decide to go back to bed and stare at you.
I look at your face and memorize as many features as I could. I listen to you breathing, with your mild snores and half-closed mouth. You will always be such a beautiful sight to see. You will always be such a wonder to me. On a normal day, I would just nudge you awake, and tell you you’ll be late – not today.
Today, I hug you gently… and then tightly. You slightly move, surprised at my gesture. You ask what time it is, and I tell you we still have a few minutes. You return my embrace with one arm and you give out a big yawn. You rub your eyes with your free hand and you brush the top of my head lightly.
We only have 8 minutes to stay still just like this. 8 minutes to cling to you, to everything I’ve known in 8 years.
7 minutes… 7 minutes left on the ticking time bomb that I planted inside my mind for the past 8 years.
6 minutes to go and I feel your heartbeat against my arm, your breathing on my hair.
5 minutes more… 5 minutes left, but my tears find their way down my face, and onto your shirt. I don’t even try to wipe them away – not today.
3 minutes and I feel like my soul is soaring so high that I don’t even feel like I’m part of my body anymore.
2 minutes and you probably notice my heaving chest and my stifled cries that are becoming louder and louder. You start to touch my chin, bringing my face to yours.
1 minute and finally, I look at your confused, sleepy eyes. Just a minute left before the chaos starts and before the bomb explodes. I close my eyes out of fear that I will actually burst into a million pieces. This has to happen now. The time has come – finally.
“I’m leaving you.”