let lemons be angry

Now you are home, but I feel worse than ever. In hospital I knew that everyone was doing their best to make you feel better.

Now that you're home I see that the real you has already died.

I'm not asking for much, God. I'm not asking for another ten years, or even one year. One more month would be a bonus to me.

All I want is one more day of the old Fiver back, crying for food in the kitchen, clambering onto my lap, in front of my computer screen shedding fur, smiling up at me with squinted eyes and falling asleep, feeling heavy in my hands, wailing for ET in the living room, burrowing his head into my belly.

I shouted at my mother on the phone when she called me. I told her not to call me crying. I'm no good at being comforting, especially not when I can't deal with it.

They leave suddenly, without warning. Don't stop loving whoever it is you love right now.