Continued Carnival Fantástico
Dovie. If I died, what would be the hardest thing to forget about me?
What sort of morbid question is that?
I was thinking about my mother. I can’t remember much about her anymore and it makes me sick. I remember how pretty she was. I remember how warm and safe she made me feel. And I remember the sound of her voice when she told me stories. But that is all.
That sounds like plenty to me.
Here’s my answer for you:
When you die, I’ll always remember how handsome you were. I’ll remember how warm and safe you made me feel. And I’ll remember the sound of your voice when you told me about your day on nights we lay on the rooftop.
That’s almost exactly what I just said about my mother.
Yes. Because it’s plenty.
I see what you did there. You must think you’re so clever.
That is a fact, not a thought.
But now you must promise me I’ll die before you (once we’re very old and very gray) because I couldn’t stand to endure a world where you aren’t in it.