I miss things.
Not TV shows, or jeans I used to own. Other things. Feelings, maybe. No, not accurate.
I look backward down the long hall, and I want all of it again. I even want now, again. I want an amalgamation of Willy Wonka, Einstein, and Ronald Mallett to make me a candy like the one that fat girl got, which encompassed an entire dinner. My life all at once. The moment before death (they say), but always. But not death. The opposite. Too much life. If such a thing is possible.
And not just too much life, but too much of my life.

They’d roll me down the hall, and have to drain my blood, my life force, into coffee mugs to share. My wrinkly vessel, like an empty balloon, would become a river, and everyone would float away on their backs, vaguely making out my memories in the clouds.

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