You were frank. What a lovely and liberating thing to be. Maybe you were also cruel, but I never stood too close to notice. Candor was the stuff of entertainment, but also of dismay. There's no point in giving gifts to you now, but yes I did love those hands more when they were warm with color. Instead I took a gift in your name, entered you or my approximation of you, tried my darnedest to become you: What would you say if you were in my place?
It seemed to me you would ask a question. One question.
Possibly, you would never come to this question. You would never be in my place. Or, you have ceased coming to questions. But the question is here, before me, whole like a softball or a nut. I'm not certain which of us owns it.
Neveretheless, I understand how I belong to this particular question. Goodbye, you.