Day 318: I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times

I imagine talking to Miles one last time, both of us alive and aware of the inevitable future.

I imagine him walking into the room with me, his time short because he has to go. I imagine walking into the bedroom and he wakes up and I have a few minutes. I imagine him sitting up with me in the funeral home with the white sheet draped across his legs. I imagine him rolling up on his skateboard and stopping to talk for a minute. Just for a minute because he has to go, but he has a minute or two, just a few words. What to say?

I have my chance to talk, and I know what I’d say. I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry. I can’t wait to see you again.

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