I visited Professor Davies today. In hospice. Man, it was rough. Like, really fucking rough. He's barely there, you know? Just laying there, eyes open sometimes, but not really seeing me. Not really *seeing* anything. And it hit me, all at once, how much I miss him. Not just, like, "oh, he's a good prof." But his brain. His actual brain, the one that used to challenge every stupid idea I had, the one that made me think about things in ways my parents would NEVER understand. My family, they just want me to get a degree, get a job, make money. He was the only one who pushed me to actually *think*. And now it's gone. He's still breathing, but that sharpness, that fire — it's just… gone. I tried talking to him, just rambling about my thesis, a stupid fucking theory I have about post-colonial literature. The kind of shit he would have torn apart, but in a way that made me feel smarter for even trying. He just blinked. Or maybe he didn't. I couldn't even tell. And I just wanted to scream, "COME ON! SAY SOMETHING! ARGUE WITH ME!" But I didn't. Just sat there, holding his hand, feeling like a total idiot. Like I'm losing the only person who ever really saw *me* and not just my GPA or my family's expectations. It's stupid, I know. He’s old. He lived his life. But I feel so lost right now. Like I had this intellectual lifeline, this person who understood the weird space I live in between what my parents want and what I actually want for my brain. And now that connection is just… fading. And I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do without him. It’s like a piece of my own mind is dying with him. And he’s still here but he’s not. It’s just brutal.