That day, I felt this.

That moment was the fruit (sour or not) of what they themselves have been sowing all along. What is their own is still green… couldn’t even wait for the ink to dry on their new label before they started eyeing what’s left. Not even a week, and they've already written the ending. This is not loss, this is an unsettlingly planned celebration. Wow. What a generous kind of greed. Inner witness wakes up later....much later. At this point, if awkwardness is going to be triggered, the purpose behind it better mean something. We’re having conversations now that wouldn’t be possible even if some had stayed seven years, not without the weight of seven decades of insight, heart, and sensible depth behind them. Got to learn to live with a reputation that’s already been torn apart… resolutely, even….instead of obsessing over the show. It’s about the bond and rapport. If you pride about 7 years, he will pride about 17 and she will pride about 24. How “more” or “less” important is a specific phase of life ? How’s that even measured?  It’s clear now that you just want to say something to appal each other. From "being too successful so you can zip up" to "What do you know?". By the way, what do you know? Have you even cared to talk to the original sources? We both weren’t even technically born yet, so why not just say we all know nothing? And even if I do know, you won’t hear it. So… goodbye.

You got none. I got some. So let me itch you just enough to make you snatch away my hard-earned content, rather than learning from the expert at work or exercising your willingness. Let me spoil the bond that could’ve been better. Let me crush it, just to feel glorified next to you. I’ll collapse enough. If I entitle myself to this kind of biology, there’s nothing surreal about the absolute zoological mess I bring. Is this…life? I suppose it ain’t ever enough. Neither greed nor insecurity. It’s funny how some can’t even wait to assert their hypothetical dominance over things they don’t own or improve. They think nobody notices? Hey, the nature will. They should ‘It’s all mine!’, but it never was. From a kid to an adult, entitlement isn’t cute. It’s established and cultivated. She isn’t even fully present for obvious, uncontrollable reasons, and you can’t find it in you to help? Basics 101. Rather, you wanna get rid of her cause it’s “relief”. To you? A sheer disgrace. Consent though? Don’t we exist? If only we start to log every little thing done, the list will blow out of proportion and negotiation fumbles.

I let myself be free…just me. I opened up and it was used against me. Twisting intentions, nitpicking, and reconstructing stories are all too common. Now imagine what if someone else had done to your person what’s been done to me? The fact that “our” and “your” warrant a Y? Why? says something. “Hey, we’re all one unit.” isn’t the reality.

Sure, everyone’s too old to remember, let alone weaponize memory. Nobody’s bad by default, but don’t mistake that for a license to be carelessly pure. Be that added sense of love and understanding, especially for the handful of beloveds who are watching someone fall apart slowly, daily.A few uplifting people can mean more than any structure or plan or recovery model. Because yeah , sick heart, sick mind, sick intentions, sick words become cycles.

Being incapable of lending a hand is sad enough, but being proudly insensitive is a kind of crown no heart with empathy would ever wear. The suffering we’re talking about here is its subconscious life, (hopefully) some invisible conscious will to keep going, and a body that doesn't move like others think it should or will not anymore so it can be nuked for ‘relief’. It's that lonesome, not hollow or dispirited. Still driven. And without even one or two truly wishing you well, it's unspeakably dark. So no, don’t even initiate your shallow, performative conversations that kill what dignity humanity has left in those moments. You know that phrase, “You don’t say that”? This isn’t just an etiquette that could be bypassed.

‘Just set the blown fuse right, what’s there to fume for?’ Great line-drawing art. Offbeat. Not deadbeat, but just not the right combination with you out here. That’s like a real still river in its deepest section, made up of care and compassion, sometimes seeming callous. Someone’s been containing it all while staying tangled in their own world on tippy toes to see each other. You can never ask for that peesaa anymore. Now that she’s gone, you want none. Nothing ain’t alive anymore. You sure are, nonetheless. You know what's lost in all of this. You've had my good moments, cherished them even. You were a baby though. You wish you had her back home and made more and more collectively healthy memories. She could have witnessed your moments by being an active part of your growth.

Lack of physically or emotionally "holding on" can make our memory of the beloved fade into a thousand shades of grey. This didn't happen cause you were always in tune. With the “tap” inside, the one either storing or holding back the emotion, how do you expect it to release when the reservoir has been drained of what mattered most? It behaves as if there’s nothing left.

Self-reveal or self-relieve? The culprit is yet to repent anyway. Turn to the goodfellas who bell the cat and will face the music. How long will you fix people? They relieved no one, especially not that intrinsically strong, graceful and healthy soul… that too secretively with zero consent. Abuse. Be grateful, not entitled. Lived in a space that was hers. And her? Lived absence. Completely out of the frame. Some breathe their avarice. Been alerting her and been an example myself to demystify it for her, yet she chose the wrong reference...an authentic malfunction. And there's the multidirectional puppet over here, apart from the perpetrator. Wrong folks have the most glittery things, only as long as you haven't noticed it. Residing on pillars they feel entitled to and won’t ever stop trumpeting and boasting about things born out of someone else's blood, sweat and tears. Do all the circus acts that yield every emotion except a heartfelt smile. But she was lost in the whirlpool. If one doesn’t get you, what can you do?

Arghh, "move on", "be strong", and miscellaneous ways of saying the same thing across the table is that its …empty. The sobbing hearts and sinking minds aren’t ok and that’s ok.  You just don't feel it and you can't fake it. Mourning is the art of loving what is no longer here, but forever within. Midnight ocean? Warm blanket? Chilling waters?

After a deep breath, you sigh, smirk and say, "Agreed". You know, the first time you confront the reality of life ending, it hits hard. And not long after that, you find yourself dealing with another too early, that is, not one nearing its end, but one just beginning :

You were the deepest epitome of diligence, precision, grace, goodwill, dignity, timeliness, clarity, tidiness, and, in one word: love. The young exuberance and good ol’ wisdom that enlightened the nurturer inside of you was something as pure as this nature itself. The crazy amounts of emotional, physical, and family support you gave to every corner like we were your very own children drives me insane wondering how that place in my life could ever be replaced. అన్నసారం? Agreed. Got to have at least some of it. “Shrug your shoulders”. True. “Inhale and exhale well like this”. This one made me ponder. Breathing system was remarkable but...Years later, someone just as old and hale traveled and almost passed. Not every AC or vehicle will do it for you. Some don't and it depends on how your body is built. This is about the victim, not about the technology or quality. It's about the context and contextual awarenss that suffered.

Destiny is harsh regardless. So weep a lil, weep a lil more. Remember that forevermore. In hindsight, it’s appalling how the most exemplary “goodspots” can’t even be spotted anymore. I have nowhere to go. Home is becoming the "goodsport".

 I despise my destiny for doing what it did despite knowing my whole self.

The demise of your dreams/paintings and your beloved can be very close to misery.

Old people and old souls both. The soul thing. Being a backbone? Think about your back. It’s gotta be laid back.

Many don't realize that it's not just about who the person was by name or role, but about the bond and the essence of their presence.

“Oh, they were too old, they’d die anyway.”“Oh, too young, just an unfortunate accident.”These are cold oversimplifications. Now add comparisons.

See, respectfully, circumstances, lifestyle, health, state of mind, environment, and above all, the felt connection count. Every single one.

And come on, with a beautifully built respiratory system, shoulders that shrug with spirit, and a brain wired with packed neural pathways that help many return to wellness... please pause. Wasn’t meant to be brushed aside as just another “end.” None saw this coming. If none of this was visible enough and if there was no big dramatic effect to notice the change, the disaster, we default to regret. That’s what we sit with. But isn't that the ultimate nature of life irreversible, like entropy in biolog? So is destiny, just another word for nature's unpredictability.

Fellow beings.... please, wholesomely cherish. That’s how you’ll actually remember. That’s how you’ll reminisce for real.

P.S.

I so love spending time with pets, instrumentals, and plants. By the way, every note, every sound, and every heartbeat in them… responds. Even sound, including silence, has a pulse.