Old Dan Tucker and endless hours of hanging out at that little coffee-shop-convenience-store you liked turned into hours of writing about the fragmented memories I have of the time I spent with you.
Five years ago, in January, Hours turned into Minutes and Minutes slowed into Seconds. And then suddenly, all the time elapsed between us And your ticking clock turned out to be a homemade explosive you marked as ‘flammable’.
But my clock still ticks on, and deep inside of me, it’s forever set to summer. Summers I spent hours with you; playing Old Dan tucker on the piano, and singing while you pushed me on the swings and I screamed with utmost delight and glee. I begged you to let me soar higher and higher, still, far away to heights unknown and forever un-dreamt about.
Even back then, I thought I was an angel.
But then Hours slowed to minutes, and while your explosive clock broke down, and minutes trickled down to seconds and your beautiful lungs that sang me pretty songs and whispered to me how I was your “favorite grandchild, “
Your once beautiful lungs were as black and as dark as charcoal is before it burns up.
Though your lungs went black, and the strings that held you together were wearing thin, your heart never did.
And even almost six years and six million tears later, you still hold our family together with a glue as strong as the heart that never stopped beating, and as beautiful as the lungs that sang me softly to sleep, even from six-feet deep.