Bequeathed

I was ok with you being ‘out there’ devastating others’ lives, quipping that I had ‘an out’ from dreaded invitations, time to wax my legs, escape the 9-5 –  while all of mine were unaffected and alive – but now they die, decline or lose the will to fight, invite the possibility of joy; gone, out, and lost, the threads that held us close are frayed or cut.

I can’t complain or ask you why you came to decimate the life we lived – absurd –

but now, I’m not ok, I wish you’d never come and I had died before I’d glimpsed the future now bequeathed to those I leave.

Covid’s herring’s reddening dis-ease.

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