Damn Acronym

in loving memory of L.N.

I remember when you first told me about it: just one word, that damn acronym — the one everyone dreads hearing. You said it so calmly, like you were talking about rain starting or coffee spilled on a shirt, like it was nothing, like it was just another fact — like today is Tuesday.

I remember that night, long before any of this, when we spent hours lying on the roof, watching satellites streak across the sky. You had this way of tracing their paths with your finger in the air, as if you could control them.

The city lights below us were dim, and the stars, well, they were faint, drowned out by the glow of the city. But the satellites… they were so clear, their blinking lights like something out of a future we couldn’t fully imagine.

You turned to me then, eyes bright with excitement, your voice full of that same wonder. "You know," you said, "I think we’ll be able to map every corner of the sky one day. Like, we could see everything — know everything."

I didn’t know then that the only thing you were really mapping was your own escape. But I could see it now, in the way you looked at me that day — like you were already saying goodbye.

I just stood there, frozen, not knowing how to breathe, how to get close to you, how to even look at you, with this new, crushing truth. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t say anything.

Your hands were so light, like you were already fading away, like you could hold nothing but air. Your skin was so thin, it seemed like even the slightest touch might tear it. And your eyes… so distant, like you weren’t even there anymore. You were always cold, always in pain. It was like your body was running out of time, but you were still here, still holding on.

We hadn’t seen each other in forever. You kept pushing it off, and I couldn’t figure out why.

You looked at me, quiet for a moment, like you were weighing something in your mind. Finally, you spoke.

“Don’t... don’t try to fix this,” you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. “It is what it is.”

I didn’t know how to answer. I just nodded, though it felt like my chest was about to crack open.

“I’m not afraid,” you added, staring past me, like you were seeing something only you could. “I just want you to understand. That it’s... it’s time.”

It was so simple, so final. And I couldn’t argue with you, not anymore. All I could do was stay there, not trying to fix anything, just being with you. Until the end.