Once
There was always a soft crying.
Really quiet.
He could never tell where it came from.
Under him, beside him.
That was when he was allowed to be awake.
There was crying, sounds of sickness, or silence.
It never sat with him.
It wasn't right.
He would knock on the floor, to let her know that she was there.
He would call for her, although he had a feeling that she was too weak to answer.
He couldn't do it too loudly, they'd wipe him if he did.
Like that ever stopped him.
He saw her once.
Once.
Copper-like/brown skin, pale, dry, dirty.
They'd shave her hair or kept it knotted and caked.
She was small, similar to a lost memory.
It made him, upset.
She had her eyes closed.
Never opening them.
Not until she did.
Brown.
Like the earth, dirt.
Something good, which was foreign to him.
Warm.
He spoke to her, held her.
She looked at him, wheezing or barely breathing.
No in-between.
She didn't talk, she couldn't.
Too weak.
But they learned how to communicate.
He took care of her.
Like a distant memory, he knew what to do.
Warm.
Good.
Small.
That's what she was.
Just them two.
He took care of her with what they had.
The building was vacant.
But they weren't allowed to leave.
She spoke once.
Once.
"What color are your eyes?"
He'd never been asked that before.
He didn't know.
He never looked at himself.
But, for some reason...
"Blue,"
But, then, they took her away.
His warmth away.
Wiped him.
Cold.
Alone.
Confused.
Concerned still.
Wipe.
Cold.
Alone.
Maybe if he never spoke?
Maybe if he kept her more close?
Cold.
Alone.
So cold.
Sleep.
That never leaves his memory.
His dreams.
Warm,
Good,
Small,
Cold,
Alone.
So cold.