I live on a desolate place called earth. I don't know what to make of this place, except that it is very strange. People label each other and those who don't label are considered the strangest of them all. They are so hateful. So strange, I don't know what to make of it. I wish I did. But then I would be considered one of them, which I'm not. I do not belong with these people no matter how much I may act and talk and look like them, I am not one of them. I once considered being one of them when I met the one named Robert. He was kind and not like the rest. He showed me wonderful things like the waves crashing on the ocean, a busy bee collecting pollen to make honey, snow falling on my eyelashes, trees in a forest, sunlight coming in through my window after a wonderful night, and walking by moonlight on a beaten path. He also showed me how wonderful life is through his eyes, how everything's all right when you're with him. He also taught me many things like how to take in all the beauty of nature and to spend my time reading a long book in the comfort of a nook. He taught me how to dance, how to laugh, and most importantly how to love. Oh, how we loved each other. Everywhere we went together people knew we were in love, one look and they knew. There was no stopping us. We were on a cloud and couldn't get off.  Even when we heard of the illness he had that was spreading throughout the land like wild fire; it didn't stop us loving each other. Everyone had it except the lucky few, myself included. We kept on going like normal until it got worse. We went to treatments together and surgeries. I waited and when they were over he kept saying he was fine. He was in the hospital the last months of his life. I would have given anything for him to stay with me just one more day. He asked me to marry him a week before he passed. I said yes of course and we were married that same day. I never left him during the whole time. On the day he died he told me to climb in the bed with him and to hold him. He said to me that no matter what happened to him to promise him that I'll be the same and don't sulk because of him. He said he was going to be fine. Then he took a breath and that was it. He was gone. I didn't want him to go, but he did. I didn't cry; I didn't even call for a nurse to pronounce his death. I just sat there holding him like I always did. He died in my arms. For some reason I was glad that it was all over. That he left the way he did. It wasn't in pain or misery. It was in my arms.