I long to tell him that yes. I am. But I don't. I am painfully aware of the tube leading the oxygen to my mouth and making me incapable of speech. So I simply close my eyes before he can see them and bear the feeling of my heart breaking in two.
"Hmm," he seems unconvinced of my silence but he lets it go and I can only imagine him as he shakes it off and continues his work. He's so excited about me. I know I should not be awake, yet. So, I peacefully go to sleep. After all, I wouldn't want him to be disapointed in me.
Before I let myself fall into slumber, I allow myself one more peek at his face. He is observing charts and the many screens of computers that are monitering him so I have a perfect profile view of his face: strong featured, kind eyes, and a smile that makes me want to smile. I yearn to hold him in my arms, unencumbered by any tubes, and whisper his name. The thought of holding David makes me feel like smiling. But a sleeping person wouldn't smile.
I close my eyes, again, and let the dark overwhelm me. I am safe in the knowledge that the last memory of his face will bless my dreams.