Isaac Marion

Some part of me remembers what snow is, but this is the first time my new mind has seen it. It softens the crumbled sidewalks and turns rusty rooftops white. It__ beautiful. It crunches under my feet as I move toward the house, longing to understand.

You can order yourself to treasure a moment, to cling tight to a feeling and never let it fade, but it__ your brain, that three-pound lump of hamburger, that makes the final call.

You and I are victims of the same disease. We're fighting the same war, just different battles in different theaters, and it's way too late for me to hate you for anything, because we're the same damn thing. My soul, your conscience, whatever's left of me woven into whatever's left of you, all tangled up and conjoined. We're in this together, corpse.