“Fate fell short this time,”
The echo leads me to glance to my right.
He’s there, miming words that I’ve known perfectly for five years.
It gets me thinking. Poetry, to be memorized for Ben Robinson’s class.
Milton. A paper for him required me to watch a movie.
Watching that movie…it was the last time I saw him at my house.
Right before finals. After finals, I left for Los Angeles.
He came then, to take care of my dog for me, because he didn’t want her to be taken to a kennel.
He was sick then. Too sick to spend time at his daughter’s house, but he came anyway and took care of my dog.
Those were the last times he ever came to my house, and the last times we ever saw each other under the pretenses that everything would be okay.
I saw him in the hospital, a tinge of green- literally green.
I knew- and he knew- there wasn’t much time. When I broke down, it was in a struggle over two words:
and that was it. Pain and emotion and a thousand memories I wanted that thank you to encompass hit me, and it hurt. It still hurts.
It call came rushing back in such a bizarre sequence. Is this how the mind works? How our connections are made?
Why am I haunted?
When we sat and watched that movie, it was in silence. Usually, we had kept our distance, but oddly on this day, there was comfort in the space between us. Astra came and sat between us, and three hearts beat separately and yet in content with each other.
Why why why why why why why why
- Words Are My Weapon: The Inclusive Network
- Writer’s Eye: That particular Muse