Posthumous Self-Indulgent Inquires in a Final Letter to You, Old Friend.

Was it the first time in a long time you felt warm? A blanket cascade of crimson life, on loan, returning. Fast at first, I’m sure, spurting. When the blood slowed and the warmth turned cold, did you think of them? Your children? What a moment that must have been, did you think you made a mistake? Knowing you can’t reach down down down the drain and grab your life again. Cold now. Tired. Did you see the platelets struggling frantically, desperate to keep you together? Did life dry before your wet eyes? Did you know we all cared, no, we loved you and would have done anything to keep your life out of the drain. All of us, the strength, the resilience, what we would’ve done. Despite our vast reach, we still can’t pull your living parts back up now. You’re all mixed with piss and shit and shampoo and your daughter’s long blonde hair that always clogged the drain. I know, you meant to take care of that last week but didn’t get around to it. You were busy. Well, that’s what you told us. Really you were in a crippling state of desperate depression, unnecessarily battling alone. We didn’t know. You were “too strong” to let on. True strength is asking for help. That’s why I don’t understand, you were always the strong one. The one we admired. I hope you didn’t see your life coating and staining that blonde hair you used to brush. I hope that didn’t make you think about her first haircut or the time you were teaching her to ride her bike and she fell off and got that scar on her forehead, the one you used to kiss every night as she fell asleep. No one to kiss away her pain now. I hope you didn’t think of all that between the time you opened yourself and when your eyes closed the very last time.
Anyway, tell the other guys I said hello, I love them, and that we are all doing our best to take care of each of your daughters now.

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