Another Day

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Sweet lovely death,
I am waiting for your breath
Cold sweet death,
One last caress…

I was twelve when I saw Jacob's Ladder. Since that time I have climbed every step of the way and wondered when the child would arrive to take me into the light. While I am lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, watching a broken bulb dangling from a dead string, I find myself asking if I will ever wake up.

Point me to the sky above.

I pull on my boots, and for the first time in as long a time as I can remember the lace snaps. They used to do that all the time. I would pick up a package of four from the Dollar Store, just because they were there, and I would go through them in a week. Sometimes it was longer, if I were playing the part of a shut in for the week. I guess at some point I finally got tired of dropping a dollar for black laces and I picked up a few that would last just a little bit longer. Or maybe I just happened upon that lucky package that contained laces that were not assembled in some South East Asian labour colony.

I can't get there on my own.

No laces. At least there are still a few rolls of electrical tape. Not like it's useful for anything else at this point. Round and round it goes. That dull, droning hum has returned. I thought I would finally be rid of it, but I expect it will follow me around until everything finally ends, the last living legacy of the species mixed with that ever present bleeding dust, choking winds carrying the memories six ways from Sunday. Will this be the last time?

Walk me to the graveyard.

I suppose it was inevitable. No one, not a one, can endure as I have. What am I doing? I used to believe it was because there had to be others. How could I possibly be the only one? Evidently, I am the answer to my own question, that elusive riddle I have been chasing since that single day when I raised a bottle to the sky and said I was sorry into a hail of fire.

I guess apologies just do not mean all that much in the grand scheme of things when you're really not sure what it is you are sorry for.

I never did walk up to the casket. I sat in the back, looked down at my boots, and wondered if my memories of her face would be enough to remind me that for a brief period in time she had been the most important thing in the world to me. That she saw the world, even if only for a second through eyes not her own and had shared a moment that was exclusive and unique.

Dig up her bones.

The air is thick with dust, thicker than it has been before. I expect it will be time, before long. Will I be ready when it is? Will I ever be ready? When I have the answer, I will be sure to the let the world know. Nothing ever ends, so long as I am here to remember.

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