He looks at you the way he cannot look directly at a car crash, slightly off to the left, half asleep, head-first into headlights, chewing on concrete, trying to decide whether long goodbyes are worse than nothing.
He looks at you as if to say “We Are At Home In The Body,” but when we’re alone in the lobby it’s hard to find anything to say.
There’s no comfort in stained glass or pictures of organs we all have, when it’s just you struggling against the hospital bed, fighting with myself not to make a memory of this moment.
Nothing is worse than long goodbyes.
I don't know how we watch the ones we love die and forget to remember them alive.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
