She struck a match and breathed deeply, tasting long summer afternoons and her father's cigars on the porch in the sulfurous smoke. It was dark. She lit the candle and shook the match out. The flame flickered as it struggled, and then shot upwards.
Her mind drifted to the hospital, to his face and the room's antiseptic smell, how she knocked over the pill bottles as she reached for him, and how he lay, maybe asleep, maybe not, clinging to any moments of lucidity like they may never come again.
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