Sick.

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That was your temperature at its peak.
Hot to the touch, warmth unnaturally radiating.
You, dormant and melancholy, cling to me.
Company, up close, is all you crave.
With a sweeping hand, you cast away all food offered to you.
Occassionally, you whisper “Ju” and reach out.
You sip cautiously, testing the flavor of the juice given to you as it glides up the straw and into slightly parted lips.
Seconds later, you push the cup away.
Body shudders, coughs choke.
You watch television through glazed eyes, hardly interested in what is on.
But when it’s time for medicine, suddenly you become fiesty, “No ju!” you proclaim with finality.
Your hands cover your ears.
Your mouth clamps shut.
Legs flail.
And you battle ceaselessly against taking each assigned dose.
You try to shake your head.
You spit out whatever you can.
You scream, holler, and cry simultaneously.
When the syringe is empty, you fall still again.
Eyelids drooping, body motionless.
Double ear infection.
Flu.

Seven days without our Ri.
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