*A/N* Just realized that I hadn't posted since July!!! So, I wrote this as a spur-of-the moment thing. I hope it's good!!!
P.S. I loooovvvveee critiques <3

The old man held his wife’s wrinkled hand tenderly in his rough one, callused from years of fishing and nets. Her veins were blue, running like a tiny channel of rivers. Her eyes were closed, and the old man longed for them to open. He wanted to see that spirited light that had shone so strongly until last week- a Tuesday, he remembered, just before she drifted off into this sleep. His sleeping beauty, he had started calling her. His wife’s chest still rose and fell slowly, though her breath was shallow.
Her hair had turned white, as white as the hospital pillow. It had still had bright red streaks just last month. He gently stroked her hair back from her face and tried to detangle it with his fingers. She had always been so meticulous about her hair.
“Do you want to hear a story, Vivian?” he asked in a rough voice. She made no movement, as he knew she wouldn’t. He went on anyway.
“Do you remember when we met, honey? Do you remember how the leaves were falling off the trees? How cold it was when you came running by me, dropping your books everywhere?” A smile crossed his somber face. “Remember how you started cursing like a sailor when I accidentally kicked one into a puddle? You told me I was a pig, and that I owed you a twelve dollar book. Remember how I told you that I owed you a twelve dollar book and a cup of hot cocoa?” The old man traced his fingers alongside her mouth, where there was a map of all of the smiles and frowns they had shared. “Man, Viv, I still can’t believe that line worked,” he said. His grip on her hand tightened.
“Do you remember Johnny, sweetheart? Well, of course you remember Johnny. But do you remember him when he was a little kid, Viv? Shoot, darlin’, he got all that fire from you.
Remember when he got hold of my gun, when he was six or seven? Lord, you were mad at me. Banned guns forever, you did. Made me dismantle it and beat it with a hammer.”
“Hey, Viv, did you hear that you’re a grandmother now? Johnny told you that, I think. She was just born yesterday. They named her Rose……..Rose, like your favorite flower.” The old man felt tears stinging his eyes. He cleared his throat and continued.
“Remember August, Viv? You painted the biggest painting. It was nearly seven feet high. We hung it up inside. It takes up the entire wall. A better painting I’ve never seen. It’s of the garden, you know. So many flowers. You love that garden, don’t you? Lots of green. Just like your eyes, I like to say…” forbidden tears started to tickle his cheeks. “Jesus, Vivian, please open your eyes. Just for me. Talk to me, please!”
There was no response. He let out a sob that rocked his whole body and pressed a hand to his face, but he never let go of her. He would never let go.
“Rob?” her voice was so faint that it felt like a dream, a dream that he was trying so hard to remember.
“I’m here, Vivian, I’m here,” he said. Her eyes were open, though their light had dimmed.
“I’m dying, Rob,” she whispered.
“No, you’re not. You’re fine, you’ll be fine,” he stuttered in reply.
“Don’t even try to fool me, dear,” she croaked, a weak smile stretching out those beautiful crow’s feet along her eyes.
“God, Vivian, you can’t do this to me,” he said. “It’s not your time yet. It’s not our time yet.”
“Yes, it is,” she told him firmly. Her hand was trembling as she placed it over his. “It’s time for me to tell you something; you are going to let me go.”
“Never,” he replied.
“Scatter my ashes on the road where we met.”
“I’m not going to scatter your ashes,” he snapped.
“Listen to me!” she cried, her voice straining. “I don’t want my final memories of us together to be of you telling me about how I’m not going to die, because I am!”
He was frozen. Her eyes were piercing into him, just as they did that time when he kicked her book in the puddle.
“Did I ever tell you that I kicked that book in the puddle on purpose?” he asked her, leaning in close.
“What?” she asked.
“I wanted you to talk to me,” he said, laughing. “When you started cussing at me like that…..whoo. I was hooked, baby. I was hooked.”
She smiled, just as she had when he told her he owed her hot cocoa. “Bet you got more than you bargained for, hm?” she said, chuckling.
He shook his head. “Naw!” he paused, then felt a smile itching at the corners of his mouth. “Well, maybe a little bit.”
Vivian laughed. Her full, beautiful laugh that filled up the whole entire room.
“But I’ll tell you what, Viv,” he continued. “I wouldn’t trade my time with you for anything in this whole world.” He stroked the side of her face, felt the curve of her cheek bone and the soft edge of her jaw.
He could see that she was getting tired. A tear slipped from her startlingly green eyes. “I love you, Rob. All right?”
A tear slipped out from his own eyes and fell on the thin fabric of her hospital gown. “I love you too, Viv. I love you more than the sun loves the moon.”
“I love you more than your boot loved my book,” she whispered, her eyes half closed.
“I love you more than you loved my hot cocoa. That’s saying a lot.”
“Not really,” she muttered, eyes all the way closed now. He laughed and kissed her gently on the cheek, and she smiled. As she drifted off into a sleep that she would never wake up from, he whispered in her ear.
“I love you more than grass loves rain. I love you more than the stars love the sky. I love you more than you love Patsy Cline. I love you more than your paintbrush loves the canvas,” her breaths were getting shuddery, and he was crying. His voice sounded like a broken little boy’s. “I love you more than anything.”