life force

You did not start my heartbeat, sweetheart. You did not give me life in any cold biological sense, as a mother does her child, but still you’ve somehow kept it running, stopped it stalling, stalled its stopping, I’m sure of it.

You do not fill my bare lungs with air, honey. You do not draw my breath in any actual physical sense, as a respirator does a patient, but still you’ve somehow kept me spending it intentionally, plentifully, unendingly, I’m sure of it.

You will not drain my last drop of life, darling. You will not cause my pulse to flatline in any direct causal sense, as a killer does their victim, but still you’ve somehow kept me dreading any absence of your presence — deadening, I’m sure of it.