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Tuesday, April 21

I'm not thinking about this;

I'm just writing.


I don't know how to explain it
The odd, empty
Hollowed out feeling of my bones
Underneath my skin.

It is as if
With the knowledge of her death,
The world expanded
Stretched and grew

In one moment,
Everything moved so far away
And suddenly
There was nothing to hold on to
And the other side of the world
Was more than just a 26 hour flight
And 11 hour drive 

It no longer exists.
It no longer exists.

An empty, dusty house
Its walls no longer 
Whispering to anyone
It's floors no longer
Chilling the toes of servants
Who would much rather be at home
Than tending to a tired old lady
Who didn't speak much anymore.
It's air no longer
Holding the secrets of 
Countless childhoods
The echoes of laughter
Laughed 30 years ago
Still singing in the wind,
The feeling of fingers running
Across the staircase banister
30 years ago
Still fading into the wood.

It's empty
of life
It's full
of secrets
That I will
Never learn.

And so I cry
To myself
To you
I cry.

Because I don't know what else to do.

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