Born of two; raised by four. I guess I took it all for granted, and only three remain. Even though you’re wounded, I know that you’re still here. I don’t blame you, you just can’t face the change. We spend our golden years as living ghosts. Caught in a constant state of purgatory. We are only burdened by our memories until the day they cease to exist, and we follow shortly after. Although I wonder if at any time, our minds fell upon the same plane. I know they did, I just wish I had a chance to go back and appreciate it. But we’ll always have the winter, and the snow that got trapped behind the glass. You may be only a shell of the man that you used to be, but I love you just the same, and I will until the day you’re gone. I just never know if I’m communicating with you or the disease. And even though I curse the idea of an afterlife, I still ! hope you’re taken care of. You deserve to be at peace. Please don’t forget my face. I won’t forget to remember you.
