Thursday, March 19, 2015


My dad is on his death bed, eyes closed, liver distended. I'm lying next to him, his hand in mine, and I'm not even sure if he can hear me.
"Will you take care of me from wherever you go?" I ask.
He smirks. "I will take care of you and intervene even when you wouldn't want me to". 

He was always overprotective. How silly of me to assume death would change that.

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