I want you to know what I forgive you for, now that you’re all ashes anyway. Every step into the river pushes you further away. I want you to hear the farm apologize for letting you believe you could return. I want you to dream in all the languages we couldn’t learn. I want you to write my name under your name, with the year I was born and you began to disappear. I want you to watch the generations sprawl, constellations in a northern sky. I want all the satellites to circle you when you arrive. I want every highway sign to remember we were here. I want you to take your time to disappear.
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