Priorities

It'd been snowing last week. The air, still flooded with frozen oxygen, made it all that much harder to breathe. My frost lined lungs hauled themselves into a steady rhythm, no one was to know the panic clogging in my veins.
They all sat there, with smiles on their faces. The warmth of the café air, seeping into their porous cheeks. Rosie red cheeks. They were all so alive, you could see the warmth beneath their skin. Very much the opposite of how I felt. Rosie always was one to be controversial. It was almost as if her personality shone through every one of the people huddled around the petite coffee table in front of me. Buzzing, like a bee. Annoyingly in your ear. I willed them to stop.
No one seems to notice, when some thing's really wrong. But if they do, then why is it that they don't help? Are they too selfish? Too scared? Who knows. But all I knew, was I needed help.
My phone vibrated frantically upon the table's surface. No body stopped to notice. Except me. My clotted veins, began to bloat. My frozen lungs forgot how to function. I'm pretty sure my eyes looked as though they were to pop out of their hollow sockets. I picked up my phone in my sweat ridden palm and began to rush out of the serenity of the quiet coffee shop. Then, and only then, did people stop mid-conversation to notice me. They only notice when my back has been turned.
The frost bitten wind hit me as I exited, unable to intertwine with the last blast of warmth, weighing down on top of me, from the heater above the doors. I felt as thought I'd been split in two.
I crushed the buttons beneath my trembling thumbs. I forced the phone to my cowering ear. The somewhat comforting voice whispering into my empty mind, didn't make the next few words any easier to obtain.

Poisoning.

The vicious word drilled through my skull, ploughed through my mind, spat at my soul, numbing me to my inner core. Now came my time to be controversial. My heart began to slow, my mind stopped mid-flow. No.

A day later, you wake up.
A week later, you're discharged. Perfectly fine.
A month later, you forget to call.

All I really have left to say;
Would you have done the same for me? Your own flesh and blood.
Would you have starved her of your company? Of your voice? Like you did me.
Would you have raised the bar? Pushed yourself too far? Like you did for her.

I gave you 16 years, and I still continue to give.
She gave you 8 years.
The luck of an 8 ball runs out eventually.

Would you have risked it all for me?