That I've wasted my wife's time, or haven't loved her well enough. That those days when I've smeared my assholishness all over our little world will outweigh the days when I've figured out how to tease a smile out of her. That she made the wrong choice, in letting herself love me. That someone who would've allowed her greater freedom, shown her greater passion, and given her greater joy never got the chance because I came along.
That my children repeat my mistakes, or do harm to themselves trying to live up to my stupid expectations. That they ever, ever mistake my weaknesses for strengths. That they die without experiencing the first blush of attraction, the first kiss, the first stolen moment of lust and terrible, beautiful longing. That they meet bad lovers and don't know when to leave them. That they don't ever figure out their own expectations, their own joy, or how to walk away from assholes.
That my wife or kids die before me.
Heights. Spiders. Assholes in their cars, on cell phones, sucking on cancer sticks or shitty coffee, whilst ignoring those of us who run, walk or bicycle to wherever. Angry school yard bullies acting out their parents' misdeeds on mine own beloved offspring.
Do-gooders with police forces.
Dying before I've lived enough.
Dying alone.
Crow's Eye: Maintaining a commitment to Pointless Acrimony™ and Hate Filled Invective™! Also available in corvid mischief and traditional sly dog's mistrust.
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