It is impolite to wonder whether the hot air balloon in your lungs have begun to deflate, grandfather.
Whether you wish to float away. Dad said you never feared flying - dad said nothing about it, rather. But I fear for you.
You are old. Older than I can ever imagine. You are frail but for the globes rising in your chest and stomach; they fall with each frail breath.
Let it carry you away. Do not let these wires hold you down. They do not pump poison into your body. They do not let the heat escape.
If it must, it will, grandfather. The ceased oldness in you expanding and contracting at will. You will not die without a fight, grandfather. Oh you will.
Was never close to you. But you're an intriguing study. Very grave.