And so it almost here again- the death-versary. The dread begins with the first truly hot day of the season and ends not the day of her death, but maybe by September?
Every single failure, guilt, and horror are trotted out for my perusal.
Hey, remember how the night before she died, you told her to stop breathing on you at the movies?
Yeah. I did that. I told her to stop breathing on me at The Amazing Spiderman, and not even twenty four hours later, she would never breathe again.
I can't believe you scolded her for eating with her hair in her soup at Panera's...that was the last meal she ever ate. How could you?
Yeah, I did that, too.
Hey, don't forget how when you got home from the movies that night, you holed yourself up in your room to work on your paper for class, and probably made her feel like she wasn't as important as your grade point average. Good job there, dumb ass.
All the rest are darting images and feelings...none in order, all that cut and hit and knock me flat:
The casket lid being closed...running down the road, slap-thud-slap-thud..."Love you, bye!" ...I killed her...I killed my baby...that's it, then, it's over, can I be done now?...please don't let this be real...why aren't they doing anything? where are the freaking paddles? ...her name is on the board, people are coming to see her BODY because she's DEAD...does it matter where we put her? does it matter, it's all just a hole in the ground!!...God doesn't exist, he wasn't there...her shoes were still tied...how fast do you have to be going to embed your vehicle's paint on...things...?..."You sure you don't mind, Cory, it's awfully hot out there?"
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