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Lately I can’t kill spiders.

Or flies.

I swat at them hoping only to startle.

 

I sleep but really I’m just pulling hairs,

finding ones that displease me,

yank at the root.

 

When we are together I want to be apart

and

when I am alone I am desperate.

You said from the second you walked in you could feel “it”.

We don’t know what “it” is but still,

we feel.

 

Not quite palatable.

Tangible.

Palliative care, we’re doing it.

 

Care turned into nursing to keep living.

Food turned into life.

Kisses turned into “the last” and “can you capture this, take a picture for us?”

Pills line shelves line walls.

Hitting them, turning round, hitting twice more.

Gripping tight.

Holding.

Everyday trying to let in while letting go.