Uncle Armando has passed away. I feel my heart breaking apart, and want it to remain that way. I do not move from my bed. I do not cry. I do not blame anyone. I watch for what can wash this away. Here so patient, here so subdued.
There isn’t much of an uncompromised happiness left. Time takes and takes, with no signs of relenting. It has so much of what I loved without questions, reservations, or conditions. If I am to accept this chaos, it will not be without handing life my own. I want so much for those that watched me grow up to pronounce my name, accented by a Spanish tongue. I want my uncle’s story retold, without a tragic ending. I want a place for all of this love to go, so that it will not turn in on itself.
Do not ever drop your guard, or what you care for most will be taken away. And what can I do to bite back? I think, and I think. Something can always be recovered. I plan, and I plan. It is no revenge to stand where I was dealt a difficult blow. To spite what or whom? I can spit out this bad taste in my mouth, but force no one to lap it up just to see what it was like to be made sick by it.