Dark smoke pushes the light out of your body. I watch it go, wisp by wisp - every day, more clouds, more fog obscuring the sunshine. There are moments when I still see that reflective beauty of mirrored amplitude bouncing in your eyes and radiating outward, but I know that light grows dim in the tired evening of your life. We pray and pray for a miracle, beg God to take away the pain, and all that comes is more morphine. Is it bad to pray that God just takes you home one night - pray for death to pick you up in his arms and cradle you in the night - let the darkness overcome all remaining light and whisper you into the nighttime? We've been praying for tomorrow to come, but if tomorrow is worse than today, I'd rather it didn't. Because we're choking on the smoke and stumbling in the dark and weeping as we watch you cling to the rare rays of sunlight. Maybe if you let go of that last light, the darkness will disappear too.
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