He had promised you the skies. He had promised to hang up the stars each night for you to admire. He was your star. He was the sweetheart you had waited for all your life. He had gently slid that ring onto your finger, whispering of how he could live a happy and full life if you were the last thing he would see at the end.

You were his star, his galaxy and everything above. He was supposed to stay by your side, as long as you'd allow him. You would always tell him at night, "When we walk, we'll walk together. Hand in hand." He'd kiss your hand and wrap an arm around you, nodding with a sleepy smile on his face.

That's how it was supposed to be. Now he laid in the very bed he had embraced you in, his body frail. He was fading, his bright brown eyes dull and no longer full of that energy he used to have. He was dying. He was dying and all he did was smile and weakly squeeze your hand. "This is how life is, my love."