I could have tended your wounds,
like a battlefield surgeon,
spurred on to save your life
in the heat of the moment,
the chaos of dying.
I could have raised you up,
when your own broken spirit
to hold on
had failed you.
I am able.

But every creature
in nature, and beyond,
has its niche
and I am no exception.
My habitat:
the still spaces between
human heartbeats.
My sustenance:
your last, gasping breaths.
I must exist. I must feed.
I must do what I was created for.
Nothing more.

Maybe now you understand?
Why feeling your fragile soul,
light and rumpled
like tissue paper
I cradle it like a lover,
tender and longing,
before letting it go
forever?

You see,
though we were fated to meet
only for this one fleeting moment,
you've been waiting for me
all your life.
Haven't you?