It was this time last year my neighbor died.
Your typical Al.
I remember climbing the stairs. After waking. Seeing all the lights. The swirls of reds and blues. A reminder of this time last year. A reminder of this time last year — except it was four years ago. Of when I'd thought we'd gone to war again. Of when I woke and thought we'd gone to war again.
Hearing the pop pop popping. The spraying of gunfire. A blaze of red all around me.
Realizing then that we wouldn't be going to war again. My house was just burning down. I was standing naked in the cold, self actualizing, realizing then, that for all these years, I'd been at war with myself.
A neighbor offered socks.
That day the daughters brought candy because Halloween. That day the daughters brought candy because we gave them hugs. That day the daughters brought candy because they couldn't bear to exist in a world where ghouls and goblins, strangers with strange faces, imagined evils and mis-intentioned princesses, siblings in tow, carrying their little skeletons, would soon to be approaching their door, one by one.
They couldn't bear a world that was this.
A world that was true.
A world where loss was the only future — where Al, their loving father, was dead.
Anyways, I guess the point to all of this was just to let you know: give a hug.
Don't be afraid.
Give a hug.
We all have ghouls and goblins at our door sometimes.
So remember: GIVE A HUG.
And stop watching the news.
Wars and evils will always replay themselves. You don't need the news to tell you that.
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