The Pale Bonsai
The doctor said it was the lungs. Or maybe the heart. It didn’t matter. It was inside. It was there. I saw it. I am old. My hands shake. Not much. Just a tremor. Like a leaf in wind. But it is constant. It is mine. My daughter, Sarah, sits in the chair by the window. She is beautiful. She is young. She is leaving. She is packing. The boxes are on the floor. Brown cardboard. Tape. She is leaving...
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