I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be so close to you. I’ve waited since I was a boy for these moments. I found you one day hiding in a drawer- I let my pinky quietly touch your cool hard metal trigger. But I didn’t dare. I have waited patiently instead; my eyes have slowly half-obscured, becoming milk. Sitting in the car, I feel my flaccid spine sinking against the hardness of the leather seat and my view, of a world shrouded in alabaster makes me think I won’t have to wait for much longer. I can’t explain things. I am ashamed often at the things I don’t know. My cheeks are suddenly inflamed, as red as the leaves suddenly on the ground. Red is a color I can still see, a word I still know. I suffer the embarrassment of not remembering what I am embarrassed about. What a nuisance I am, I hear myself saying over and over again the things I’ve said. I tell the story of who I am to myself over and over again and each time I diminishingly return. I only have so many words left, they run off from me with long legs and longer shadows in the night, with my vision, drowning in a lactescent froth of Ensure! at the edge of my tongue. I can’t explain things. Suddenly in the car, wetness everywhere, the tangy smell of my body’s confusion. What a nuisance I am, forgetting where I am, forgetting where I am going. All the cars, the family, the vibrantly living exasperated with me. I hear myself saying over and over again the things I’ve said. I am adrift in the tub, unable to stand for fear of slipping again, of troubling others again. I am adrift of all I have ever known. We are so close, you and I, and for your company it seems loss of self is required. My pinky quietly rests on you, light as a breath, the last I’ll take.