How are you? I haven’t spoken to you in a while. Well, not where you could hear it anyway. There was a time when I spoke out loud while I walked around your tiny house, in the rooms you painted and decorated, because I felt your presence so strong and tangible I could feel it. I apologized for not selling your house right away like you asked. I couldn’t, you see. I didn’t have time enough to say goodbye. I needed more time.
I went to your grave and talked to you also. That felt empty and not nearly as satisfying. I knew in my heart that you weren’t there anymore. That an empty shell was the only thing that remained. A shiny brass marker with a permanent vase, placed neatly upon a too-green square of grass–that was even less you. But even…
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