Cancer

“Isabelle,” I said, “I’m dying.”

“Of happiness?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“That’s good,” she said, “because I am too. Except for just one thing—I’m really dying.”

“Isabelle,” I said.

“Don’t worry about me—you can place me under the body tree. Or the banyan. It doesn’t matter whether I’m dying from cancer, or something else all together, you must know how deep my love has been for you, Ish—”Isabelle”—how my love has just grown for you, each and every day, how I have silently, so silently, watched you pass away into a dream state,