It all started when I said there was no way to reach him anymore. Like an invisible, impenetrable barrier that death pulled him through. No matter how hard I beg, cry, or fight against it, nothing will change his fate.
I will be here. All I have left of him now are memories, dreams, and the occasional note or label I find scrawled in his distinct handwriting hiding in the basement.
It was kind of like realizing that your legs are actually wooden pegs you've been hobbling on for a long, long time.
Arrrrrr mates. A storm be brewin.
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