He layed quietly in the white bed, looking out the window.
The IV that lead into his arm carried toxic liquid through his veins.
I sat next to him in a very uncomfortable chair, but it was worth seeing him.
He looked rough today, his cheeks were sunken in and he looks as if he hadn't slept for days.
The stubble on his chin and down his neck showed that he didn't have the strength to get up today.
We both sat there without words, I tapped my foot gently on the tiled floor as many thoughts went through my head.
I stared down at the side of the bed, wanting to say something, but not knowing what to say.
His head turned to me slowly and I looked up.
His eyes were deep brown and were full of pain.
I could feel my face twist into a look of worry as I asked, "What's wrong, dad?"
Tears were hanging on the brim of his eye lids and he reached for my hand.
Gently I grasped his hand and asked again, "What's wrong?"
Down his cheek fell tears all the way to his stubble jawline.
My emotions seemed to met in my throat, it had felt like a rock was being forced down.
I kept the tears back, I didn't want to depress him any more than he already was.
His dry lips opened and he responded with pure despair in his voice, "I can't go on any longer. I'm not strong enough."