We were often there, taking
The stairs two at a time
While the chance of falling
Wasn’t a consideration, and
A helping hand being there
Was for touch and not
Really for help. I recall
The touch. I thought I could
Handle losing it, but failed
To understand the breaking
Down of her understanding,
That withdrawing
Touch of consequence,
Memory loss, loss of most
Of what she was. I would
Have stayed at sea if she could
Have stayed, but she was
Slowly leaving in her mind,
Me hearing her go in every
Conversation, time trickling away
Like sand through my fingers.
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