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“Watching you move is visceral—the way you breathe without living, like a man on death row. You are a corpse pleading with a mouth half-chowed through by maggots, “I am alive—breathing—not dead—please-” and I am the saint by your side running my hands all over you; hanging onto the fleeing warmth from your neck, your hands, your breath like the fading coattails of a winter swallow.”
V short poem I wrote without having yun nor his mum in mind. But I found that it applies quite beautifully, actually :) Might add more chapters eventually, I love writing about sad grieving beautiful people