Last night my brother sat beside me while I cried out of the blue. It hits me at night, the longing for Dunkin.' I miss hugging him and those thousand kisses I would bath him with. A pain starts in my chest, right in the center. It is dry ice and takes my breath away. I rub the spot with my right hand, putting pressure, trying to sooth the icy hole behind my breastbone. Then the tidal wave of something that I think is best described as "loss," rolls in and wipes me out. The wave becomes tears, the tears become thoughts, then I am back there again, in the back of that car, and it's extremely hot and suffocating and I am watching Dunkin' being chased down the highway and nobody will listen to me even though the signs of the rental car are in S.D Soto's right hand and Dunkin's orange vest was already inspected, a card pulled out and read, and still, no one cares to even look at me, acknowledge that I exist.
Everything hurts. My organs and my skin. My blood.