If the diagnosis came – would I welcome?

Question remains …

So tired now, even of living.

Energies depleted, no fight left.

Chronic.

He recalled those times, “Body is Temple of the Soul!”

It changed and the scales tipped in another direction.

Memories of when and how are grey, so lost.

Photographs in basement boxes, better to remain.

No magic or supernatural.

Just weathered deposits in the life bank with no key for withdrawal.

The love rings hollow.

A circle of blame.

Trivial.

Consistent.

Diminishing.

I am lessened but not alone.

His Angels see more.

Potential.

Goodness.

Density, she told me.

And value.

The warmth of this language has faded.

He missed the bus, never saw it coming.

Perhaps it was a mirage after all.

Except the angel.

Just like Papa.

In the end as well.