Monologue.

There are some things you never get used to.

For you it was the unannounced visits from your sisters,

The constant bickering of children.

For me it was your sickness.

How can one be expected to be okay with such a sight?

I can't even remember the last time I saw you before.

Back when no one knew.

Back when you were a healthy, lively man.

What was the last thing we spoke about?

I wish I'd taken care to remember.

But how was I to know it would be one of our last?

And then we knew you were sick.

But how were we to know just how sick?

Meningitis, they said.

It should pass.

But soon there we were.

Even then things seemed normal.

You sat at your computer and played poker as always.

The severity sank in with your face. 

Then I knew. 

I was strong then.

We all tried to be optimistic around you.

I didn't allow myself to show weakness.

Not even when I was alone.

But last night was different.

I've never witnessed the family so sad.

I walked into your living room.

And there you were.

Laying in your chair as always.

But you weren't really there anymore, were you?

That had stopped being you a long time ago.

I don't even know who all's shoulder's I cried on.

We were all one.

And at the end, I kissed you one last time.

But that wasn't you.

It was a shell.

They took your body.

They'll clean it up and try to make you look like you.

But you won't look like you ever again.

They can't possibly replicate the visions I have of you in my mind.

You: sitting in your pool. driving across the country. cracking jokes.

smoking what caused it all.

They'll do their best.

But I'll never forget that feeling of kissing you.

Your cold skin on my lips.

Where did you go?

Where are you now?

Please come back.