Forward
You’ve lived so long with the dying
you’ve forgotten how to live.
Each minute has been a setback,
a change in condition, you pause,
his every cough, twitch, bowel movement.
You breathe when he breathes,
you eat only after he has his food.
When he’s is gone, no one will be there
to watch so carefully, to mimic.
When he dies, you will die too.
Yet, in the space he leaves behind,
you have a choice: to fill it,
or leave a space in the shape
of both of your silhouettes.
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