*Stares out into the darkness*

I know someone who's dieing.  The cancer is too far gone for chemo to work, he's got less than a year.  Mister Leslie is a bigger bookworm than I.  He reads everything, he read out the library here before I did (like that was hard).  He's bought a trailer, and when it shows up at his house, he's packing what he wants to take with him and he's leaving.  He has family in Oregon, not many, but family nonetheless.

I am.... I can't say that I'm sad he's dieing.  I'm angry that he's leaving, but the anger will pass.  He has accepted his fate, as will I.  I... I feel no sympathy.  There is no use in mourning.  What am I supposed to feel?  I am not an empathic person and I've walked next to Death for so long that it doesn't bother me any longer.  He is my friend, yes, and I will miss him when he is gone, but there is naught that I can do about it save for tell him he will be missed.

He looks at me with liquid eyes and I wonder if he's really as accepting of it as he claims or if he's fooling himself.  He's given me a chair, I have to go and pick it up tomorrow morn.  He might give me a book or 12.

He knows it's coming.  I know it's coming.  That's an odd comfort.