I have both hands on it's wrist and still its fingers brace for leverage upon any flesh that has not tore or bothered it's cinching grip. It's closing my wits, upon opening my will to let, let it have what has no fight.

I think this makes sense?

Where do I start, I have been fueling a walk through unusual corners, though exhausted, this flu taxed my reserves. Motion starved, empty stomach my expectations force a calm. I convince myself that I am strong - I took the flu shot, intimately aware of losing, not peacefully though, since most of the symptoms have me still. My bedroom is a cool draft, its window is opened wide and the living room window is opened wide - this pull of air constantly changes, mostly fresh, right from the shadowed streets, from the river shallows. Those night sweats when your immovable, pressed, caught in languished prayers for an abrupt chill, but all you get is your own wisdom - a room filled with heated thoughts. Soon the sun rises in our bedroom windows and warms what sleep was left, warms our prayers and draws our thoughts awake. That pink, yellow glow breaks center and shrills beams into our faces. As usual, the city brought its familiar noise, home will soon join forces to eventually draw against the light. The coffee and I headed to the quiet, the darkened living-room window.

Slight of quest.

I am trying to answer a darkening soul who without questioning my own image, patiently whiles a layering of my presence upon past memories that have not failed him. Dad, I am here.

Dad's eyes are a softer grey

I am closer to my short comings and further from my promises, yet I am able to take your fears of passing and take them away from our time. I am guarding myself as well as your grandson, our weakened light needs not reach old memories. I believe the paths we once shared will be around even before we get there.