I must go now.
It is inevitable and the heaviness is growing inside me. I am being pared back and my hands are being freed from the places around me. I think that people, when they are trying to keep me in a job, will give me awards and phrases and trinkets that will not help. It is like I am falling out of a plane with no parachute, and they toss a camera after me, saying, "Take pictures as you fall."
And what I have to give now is less than it once was; now I have only desiccated flowers to give, and a kiss like that a dying grandmother gives to her estranged grandchild that she sees once a year.
You will not miss me. You will muddle through and create the same mediocre mundanity you create now, because you love it and you can dream of nothing else. Keep your play dates pencilled in, and make sure you have lots of parties and icebreakers. You are having a lawn party under an approaching storm, lightning giving you unheeded warnings.
It is clear at the end, but then again, it is always clear at the end.