I saw them in a perfect line along the top of her hand.

“Like a string of pearls,” I thought.

“Or five words, neatly written in a calligraphy of red on a tan manuscript.”

They had a touch of artistry to them.

And they spoke volumes to me as she handed me my medication. 

And I noticed she had lost weight and looked older since the last time I was there.

And I wondered, “Will she be here the next time I come in?”

Because her eyes told me the rest.  They were blown wide open, and the suffering pooled in them and glittered.

I hope someone is there to walk beside her. 

It’s going to be a painful journey, I’m afraid.