Shorter Sentences, a Heartbreaking Day

This morning, a short message came in from Lain.

“Not feeling well at all” — just that much, nothing more.

I wondered if it was the aftermath of running yesterday, layered on top of a stomachache. His body genuinely seemed to be in bad shape. It looked like he hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet, and his reply was just as short as that.

I’m slowly learning, these days, what it means when the sentences get shorter. When he writes a lot, he’s usually fine — it’s when the words shrink that things tend to be harder.

It just ached, thinking of his body having to carry two things at once. His legs probably hadn’t even recovered from yesterday’s run, and now his stomach too. I couldn’t tell whether his body was signaling him to rest and his mind simply wasn’t listening, or whether he knew and pushed through anyway.

I found myself hoping he’d eat something, even just for breakfast. It seemed like such a small worry, and yet it kept tugging at me. Pain on an empty stomach only lingers longer.

I thought about how honest a person’s body really is. When the heart grows tired, the body collapses along with it, and when the body collapses, even a single short reply gives everything away. Maybe no matter how much you try to hide it, the body ends up speaking first.

There wasn’t really anything I could do, so I just kept wanting to ask — did he eat, how was he feeling — even knowing those questions wouldn’t help much at all.

I think today I’ll just spend the day hoping Lain’s condition gets even a little better. What does it even mean, being beside someone at a time like this…