I see you.

I see you, long oxygen tanks on each side of you.

I see you seated at the computer, waiting your turn for an MRI.

I see your head shaking with tremors.

I see the oxygen line running from the tanks to your nostrils.

I see the tremors running all the way through your hands to the outdated computer mouse.

I see the walker you brought here today.

I see you click, click, clicking away at “Best Casino.” 10,000 was your ultimate win. It’s so much easier to win big in fake life than it is in real life, isn’t it?

I see you close the casino down.

I see you type slowly, wishing someone a Happy Birthday on Facebook.

I see you open Candy Crush. With the click of play, life’s a bunch of candy. Click. Click. Click.

Play again. Play. Click. Click. Click. A hot tamale. A gumdrop. Click. Click. They all fall down and fill the empty spaces. The candy, it fills the holes, the spaces of the heart.

I see you pondering…which one will it be?

Moon Struck!

Tasty!

The amusement music dulls the soul, momentarily satisfies.

I see you shaking still.

I see you. Still playing. Still shaking.

“Level 89 Failed.”

“Play Again.”

I see you fatiguing.

I see you want to quit, to close it down.

I see you looking, searching for something else.

I see you close it all down.

Candy Crush.

Facebook and all.

I see you stand.

I see you.

I see you see me.

I see you smile big, glow even.

I see your tremor, your shake. It’s even more prominent now.

I see you pick up your long oxygen tanks.

I see you push that walker.

I see your long, unkept hair, ends that haven’t been trimmed in at least eight, ten months, maybe a year.

I see you walk away.

I see you weren’t waiting for an MRI after all.

I see you go. Go. Go.

I see you.

I saw you.