Graveside
Graveside
I am defective in grieving. There is too much analytical practical elemental selfcenteredness in me I suppose.
I stood by her casket looking down at a husk dressed in white, face puffy and distorted from the chemo. The girls whispered how shameful it was her makeup had not been done (her eyebrows had always been on point) while all I could think of was the long curved needle they use to sew the jaw to the palate, it prevents the mouth from falling open you see, and all around was the scent of death, no amount of flowers and candles could cover.
This evening a friend texted me "everything is going to be ok".
Yes, everything is going to be ok, but life is goddamned unfair sometimes.
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And he drove clear across town for no other reason than that I wanted a hug.
God, please don't let me fuck this up.
you think you want me to shut up? i have to listen to myself even when im not talking
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I don't want to go back. I just want my god-damned closure.
