Imperfect

IMPERFECT: There’s nothing to be done here. It’s time. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. Life has been long. Life has… been. Life has been what it has been. Leaning forward is difficult but I want to see it again. This photograph has been with me everyday since she left me…. Quietly…. There is nothing to get used to in the silence. It can never be the same. Nothing can ever replicate the feeling of seeing her smile. She was quiet as she slipped away. I can’t remember if its been months or years but here she still is in the picture. Young. Beautiful. Smiling. Her face dances. Her hair sings. The photograph is cold to the touch but I warm as I look at it. It’s uncomfortable again. My shoulders ache, my legs ache, my soul aches. I can’t remember when I last moved. Someone will come and move me soon. I guess. I can’t remember when they were last here. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters really. There’s nothing to be done. I am weak. In a few seconds I am no more.

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