The results from the lab were in, but they could not detect any regret in my voice. It had been my choice to stand by you; friends together, a second chance for us to right what so often had gone wrong, one last time. Taking note of your fragility and your need for constant rest, the best I could do was to care for you and be true to our connection for your protection and my own. My conscience would not allow me to make that same mistake, where I took leave of my senses and you. Translated: your illness made me sick.
Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik 2013
Written for THE SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #117
Offered at POETS UNITED – Poetry Pantry #158