• I remember that day; so soft were the words that stumbled from your intoxicated mouth.
    “I’m dying.”
    I couldn’t say anything, and it was as if my mind froze, preserving that moment forever. My breath was still in my lungs, the cool summer winds tussled my hair. I clasped your large hand in mind, staring into the strange depths of your eyes.
    So short was our life together.
    Although I have known you existed for fifteen years of my life, I’ve rarely seen you.
    Those long hours spent waiting for the phone the ring, checking the mail hopelessly every day.
    I silently wish now that I was back in the depths of the small hotel rooms south of the equator.
    Huddled quietly on the bed, listening to the night life below me, knowing you were amongst the crowd. I knew where you were, and even as the power flickered on and off, I was grateful; I knew you were coming back for me.
    But now I have only the knowledge that your hands are no longer in use, and that somewhere in this vast world you are mercilessly fiddling with your old luggage bag, something I had grown accustomed to.
    I remember when I was young, and every year something worse and worse kept on happening to you.
    “I crushed my finger.”
    That is fixable, but your finger is still no longer useful.
    “I crushed my leg under a truck.”
    Still fixable, but now you blame me for everything.
    “A molten piece of slag burned my back.”
    Not so much curable as it is fixable.
    “I’m dying.”
    Please pick up my heart from the floor, for I am afraid that someone might step on it.
    I hold now a yellowing photograph in my hands, the large waves rolling beneath you on the rocky shorelines of Antarctica. You are only a tiny speck among the millions of miles the separate you from the Pentax mounted to the ground,
    “35 millimetre lens,”
    I remember you telling me.
    Leo sits beside me, wagging his tail, he knows about the ordeal beforehand.
    “You have never cared about me.” You said calmly through the phone.
    “.....”
    “I phone you every day; yet you never answer.”
    “..................”
    “----Ah, yes, steak perhaps?” *Waitress walks away, plates can be heard*
    “................................................”
    “You don’t know how much money I’ve spent on you, you don’t even care.” Your voice is too calm, it shreds at the inside of my throat, making it dry.
    “...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
    ....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................”
    “I hope you understand that I am never coming back, I am not happy here, and if you do not care--”
    “I love yo--“*Dial tone*
    “HOWCOULDYOUDOTHISTOME?”
    My voice is shrill and loud.
    “OFCOURSEICAREHOWCOULDINOT?”
    I feel sorry for the neighbours now that I think of it.
    “NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO!”
    The house is afraid of me now, and I think of the bruised knuckles pounding against the smoothly painted blue railing that lines the porch. So afraid that it quiver and shakes at night, much like me.
    Flowers arrived the next morning.
    “I’m sorry.”
    These were quickly burned.
    Nothing ever happened in your eyes.
    “Why do you act as if nothing ever happened?” I ask on the phone.
    “Nothing did happen.”
    I’m sitting now at a restaurant, and you are sitting across from me. I phone for my ride; you lost your licence long ago.
    “Good bye.” You say.
    “Good bye.” I say.
    I know this is the last time I will ever see you.
    I would never be able to change your mind, but I know that you are truly happy where you belong: up in the frozen pine forests of the Yukon, making your claim for gold.
    “Where are you?”
    “Alaska.”
    “---Are....you still dying?”
    “Yes.”