You’ve died too many times.
Sometimes you die four, five, six times in one night.
Once was enough. Once was one time too many.
I found an email that you sent me in 2015 when I was thousands of miles away from you. It said, “I mentally willed you to call me, then your email popped up (3 minutes after I telepathically asked you to phone, which isn’t bad. I blame the time difference for the slight lag) but we need to fine-tune our connection as you misheard ‘phone’ as ’email.’ Don’t worry. We’ll work on it.”
I know what you’re trying to tell me
and I hear you loud and clear;
I hear you perfectly, believe me.
You’re letting me know
that every human being
lives many different lives
and dies hundreds of thousands of times.
You’re telling me that reincarnation is real,
that people always come back, that no death is final.
I want you back, but not like this.
So, this is me, telling you, telepathically, “Daddy. Can you please stop fucking dying on me. Your message is clear, I heard it, I understand it. But it hurts so much to see you dying over and over and over again. If you want to visit me in my dreams, feel free. I’d love to see you. But please turn up happy and well, not sick or dying or dead. You know that I already have enough badness in my head.”
Comment added the day after writing the above, after a good night’s sleep with peaceful dreams:
Thanks for listening, Daddy. Our telepathic powers are officially fine-tuned. See you (alive) again soon.