You fell in and out of consciousness as half sentences dribbled from your lips. I turned a blind eye pathetically. So self righteous, as if to say I could cast a stone. Guilty as charged. Rickety bridges burn faster. We’ve been pulling planks for years. There is a special hell called grief. Wallowing through what if’s and should haves. What was our last conversation? What more could I have done? To extend a hand. To sever. Once guilt dissipates it is clear you can only do and blame so much.
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