A rewound car crash on loop.

I’m waist deep in water.  Wall after wall of water relentlessly crashes down on me.  How I’m maintaining my foothold escapes me, I have just enough oxygen to breathe before the next wall of water slams into me, pushing me into an awkward dance for balance.  Where am I and how did I get here??  Where’s my dad?  I look to the shoreline and towering abandoned towers crumble to the ground in a lazy and sickly fashion.  My chest is tight.  The taste of salt fills my mouth.  Nausea.  At this moment I want to curl up into a ball and lay silently in a dry, dark corner.  I don’t know where to go or what to say.  I am surprised I am still writing something coherent.  My dad prepares for liberation across the hallway and I’m a fucking wreck all over again.  I’m tired of it.

Am I feeling this because it is the typical course of grief?  Is it because I can subconsciously or intuitively sense he is on the precipice now?  Or because I am leaving on Sunday and the disconnect will feel even greater?  The lights are on in the lobby here and I want them shut off.  The tv is on and I want it shut off.  My family is talking and I want them to stop.  I want the world to stop so I can yell so loud that it forces time to respectfully commence a backpedal.  I want to play my music so loud that it drowns out my thoughts and outweighs my feelings.  Auditory overpower.  Fuck cancer and fuck everything on this earth that causes it.

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