Depressed? Not really. Rock bottom? Not exactly. Perplexed? Somewhat. As I indulge in Buckethead - Wonka in Slaughterzone, I reminisce the few and far between, most insignificant of times where I interact with another relative past his prime and renaissance, a presence so taken for granted that you'd think that this fairy tale would never end.
In a few days time, I go airborne, destined to catch the last few pages, if not the epilogue of another story, another soul close to many, but unfortunately not me; It's almost certain that anything I say would be faux pas, I'm probably going home to shut up really.
Sometimes marvelling at life's miracles can be dangerously intoxicating, especially when the inevitable happens to someone close, but not too close to you... You can't help but wonder what would happen when you would be your parents' age, a drama scene replaying in front of your eyes and you know the sad, sad ending.
I don't wish for anything really, most would wish to prolong his life, but my grandad has been a good person, slightly angry, if not a very loving grandfather... Everyday's a miracle, there's always a blessing in disguise in every event in life anyway.
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