Nov 8, 2025
To my late patient, D.P….
He spoke to me in the language of twilight — where truth softens and souls forget their armor.
In his stories, I glimpsed whole galaxies of a life half-faded yet fiercely remembered.
And when his breath became silence, the room did not empty — it lingered, heavy with all the words we’d traded between the living and the leaving.
I held his hand, not to keep him here, but to thank him for letting me see him — unguarded, unafraid, achingly human.