I get home and put on Moroder just to sort of replay through the dawn of that realization. Seeing the life that I'd lived, I'd assumed it would make me a good man, a public confirmation of that coming as I chance upon a field of flowers in a remote hill village nearing dusk, hand in hand with her, a pandemonium of parrots violating the skies and flying away into the horizon, their receding cacophony giving way to the soft sound of the water stream up ahead; then we kiss, and later push related status updates on Facebook. But now I only lock lips with one of my toothbrushes, then fall into a hard spot of trying to forget her (and remember sleep) which only brings in more memories, prepare some coffee as an indirect influence from the more recent memories, and decide to end my life.
The next morning I do not wake up.
Then I do. And with no visible dismemberment of my identity (or the hole in my heart), perform my vegetable functions as usual.
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