I want to die after you.
I want to die after you die. I want to outlive you.
That’s a weird thing to say. Why would you say that?
They had been watching Nurse Jackie on Netflix. It was cold in Vancouver, a wind hitting the window above their heads. They were lying on the matted carpet by the gas fireplace. The fire was on. The computer was off. Pillows were pushed behind their heads.
Because I want to outlive you.
This is all theoretical to you. It’s weird and I don’t like it. I don’t think death is real to you. You just say stuff but you don’t know what you are talking about. You don’t know about death.
I think about it all the time. But whatever.
Why would you say this? It’s so upsetting to me.
He turns toward her. He’s like a bear, thick, soft in places and strong. He hugs her and she relaxes a little.
Okay, Tell me why then.
Because I don’t want you to have to go through another loss. That’s all.
Wow. Okay. I’ll die first.
Not really a Biography
I have always been inclined to move forward, roll the stone, down, and often up, hills. I've tried to write through it all. Everything on this blog is written by me.