It won't. ( He's sickness, after all. What is a 'cure' but 'death' of that? )

I don't want to see you anymore. I'll say mean things. ( Or do them, the twirl of his fingers seems to imply, waving briskly, tenderly in open air. Calling forth particles that answer him, swirling, and recreating shapes of decayed flesh that easily dissolves again. )

You should go. And don't scare the fish.

( ...that don't seem to be anywhere close to the docks. But, in principle. )