(Untitled)

Feb 28, 2007 17:10

i stare at the body while everyone else cries. my hand is still on the arm, but this isn't her arm anymore, this is an arm and that is a piano and outside there are rocks and she is somewhere else or gone, i don't know which and i suppose i never will. my mother cries and kisses the cheek and it seems absurd to me, but my face doesn't show it ( Read more... )

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_r_ March 1 2007, 00:55:21 UTC
i am so sorry. funerals and our dealings with the dead seem so bizarre at times; i felt the same way at my old babysitter's funeral. she taught me trees can talk and to never smoke because it would kill her--and it did. i wish i could say i never smoked because i feel like i've let her down.

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