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1:06 p.m. - Thursday, Feb. 20, 2014
The dead
I eyed the priest and other vultures of a burial group traipsing through their performances, play acting. Only those of deep sensitivities and who both knew and loved him understood. This was putting an end to him and it was more than a delicate soul could handle at the moment. Death is so finial. It seemed unreal.

Talk and laughter followed so the obvious would stay under. It could not be faced. Not yet.

His girlfriend looked untouched but then she did not know him as we did, only the surface not the canyons and rocky craig's. I wanted to think bad thoughts of her but it was only my pain.

We carry the dead with us until they bid us to let them go promising to be there if we call.

In reality they never leave; they are us.

 

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