Stagnant, pensive, joyfully silent.

The first question that comes to mind, the first question that always comes to mind, is why? It is self-evident, isn't it? Why are you sitting there? Stagnant, pensive, joyfully silent. I thought it was only part of the reason. In fact, I always thought it was an extremely minimal part of the reason but as I see you sitting there, I wonder how could I ever think it was possible not to notice; not to notice that every second counted, that every second can be the last. Of course, I now realize that I was and will remain blind; that somehow I didn't want to see, didn't want to face the fact that the last second was soon approaching. Could I have done anything? Could I have done what the situation demanded? Once, when I was five, a dog, a tiny, little, inoffensive dog, approached me. I got scared and made him ran away only to be run over by a car. I now, late as always, know that he only needed to be touched, to feel loved for five seconds, as if he knew that those five seconds were the threshold between life and death. You asked me for just one and watching you sitting there--stagnant, pensive, joyfully silent--I confidently know, as I have never, ever known anything in my precarious life, that a thousand years would not suffice; that I will never have an answer. Worst of all, that I will never be able to at least try to answer; that I will soon be sitting somewhere--hopefully also stagnant, pensive, joyfully silent--waiting for someone, anyone, to ask why?

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