Stuff of life

 

I want you and I to talk about the stuff of life. The tiny breaks she made when she threw those words at me. The year, the month, the day and the minute before those invasive bacteria took mon papa.

I want for that night. For that night to have been a dream. I want the power to have gone out like usual. I want that one to not have desired a bath that night. I want for mon petit frère to have been tired and not want to play. I want for me to have been mesmerized by the tv screen like always. For me to have reacted and not just stare. But that’s what I did. I stood there and stared. Our eyes forever locked, forever speaking, forever asking why.

What’s in a life? atom, molecules, flesh. Yes, lots of flesh, but all I have left and all I want to have is the smell of their souls. You can smell it whenever I blink or close my eyes. This corner of my heart doesn’t need any cleansing. The ecosystem that has grown in there must be protected at all costs with every ounce of blood.

In my shell, in this sacred cocoon, the Spirit hovers above the waters of my life. Waiting to breathe upon them a new world. For every limb I lose, my shell grows thicker and the smell grows stronger. For every face you see, another one lies underneath. I have unwrapped and unrolled myself with every move, but with every vision, my loved ones lost their sight, but you don’t need to worry, if you blink or close your eyes, they will find my smell on you.

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