Of course I did not know it was dying I could hear. I thought it was maybe maturity or a hidden knowledge of old old secrets. I thought it was maybe weariness that comes from seeing too wisely what could too easily kill me. I thought his musty dusty self would be a safe place for me to hide.


It was decay. It was a weariness that came from having seen not enough of anything and deciding it was too much. It was a stupid fatigue that came from refusal to listen, he wasted so much vital life trying to block any sense. I guess we could say ennui. I guess we could say shriveled shrunken brain disappearing in flakes and mush and the absolute inconsequence of things instead of people.

Did I want to become one of those rotten apples? Hells no. Left his maggoty flea surrounded self behind me. Left his petty small minded circles far far behind.

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