you stand before your grand father. he’s laying in bed, sick. this is the first time you’ve seen him in years.
“do you want water?” you try to say in his language. he doesn’t understand you.
you ask about the show on TV. he laughs. barely even remembering your name.
you ask about his health. he explains in broken english. you fail to follow.
you reminisce with him. he mentions his previous strength. you both grow silent.
he pretends the same way you do. hiding his disconnect through pretense.
you tell him about your friends. he doesn’t understand you.
you tell him about your hobbies. he doesn’t understand you.
you tell him about yourself. he doesnt understand you.
you tell him it’s a nice day outside. he nods. looking at the blankets.
you both stay silent.
