On my phone, on the phone that I never use for pictures I found three things. A picture of Art before he lost consciousness when the viral meningitis had him, made on Sunday before he died. It is as disturbing as it was the day I walked into the hospital room.
Two videos of him. Both made while he was healthy. Last fall maybe. He smiles at me. I stopped.
The Art I miss is the one from before the cancer. It's just already, my memory of him fades. His gestures, his smile, his voice. The video bought it all back.
I feel like vomiting.
I want out of my skin.
I want out of this longing that can never be fixed.
Fuck you time. You move to slow, too damn slow.