One longer later

Are you still with me? You’re still with me, right? I’ll be keep­ing you in mind — always in mind — as I take your gift and all the pieces of the per­son it con­tains. Grate­ful, that’s me. Grate­ful, for always and for everything.

I’ll pull the anonym­ous pack­age from the tooth­less but black-brushed jaws of the let­ter­box, and tear it in two, spray­ing its shards every­where and twist­ing its innards through my grasp­ing fin­gers. As ever, I expec­ted blood on my hands. But not this. Not this.

For one longer later, I would snip a single hair from my head.
For two longers later, I would cut the del­ic­ate curve of a fin­ger­nail.
For three longers later, I would shed my second skin.
For more, I would, I would, I would.

Some­where, there will be an etern­ity with one minute still to go. Some­where, there will be a leap second, a leap year, a leap life­time. It will hap­pen there and then, exactly where you planned it, and it will last no longer than the blink of a bleary eye.

Lock it away. In a safe, in a room, under cov­ers, under wraps. This is for keeps. This is your keepsake.