210415_"People seem to die many times."

210415

People seem to die many times.

Death is a matter of stages, if you want me to say, and the more the death of someone who interferes with your life, the more multi-layered it is.

Once when he completely removed his autonomy from his life, once when he actually left his life, once when everyone really realized it, and once when everyone completely forgot about him.

I mean, death materialized from your life, as if it was creeping in from the world outside the barrier - like the theory of osmosis, when the osmotic pressure of the outer layer is already greater than the inner osmotic pressure.

As for when and what state will make the osmotic pressure between us and the outside world change qualitatively, it is difficult for us to predict.

So I'm going to say it again, Mamaw is dead.

We removed Mamaw's bed and clutter from my room, moved the layout of the room, and after four or five years, I finally took back control of my room.

The new wardrobe delivered a few days ago still had a strong smell of methanol, so my mother asked me to sleep in my sister's room for a few days to avoid the limelight, and then come back when the smell dissipated.

At four o'clock in the morning, I woke up in my sister's bed. The huge window on the right reflected a little moonlight, and the iron bars of the window cast shadows, but it was like a prison railing in a trance.

My face was red, swollen and itchy at night, and the buzzing of mosquitoes rang in my ears. I got up and turned on the light. I quickly found the perpetrator and slapped it to death.

Looking at the smear of blood on the wall and on my palm, somehow, in this moment, in this room, in this situation, I suddenly realized again that Mamaw was dead.