Posted by: Ingrid | July 10, 2007

Thoughts

Sometimes I think about death and am afraid. I think about the ugliness and the horror and the grief and the not-quite-knowing what comes next. The crushing agony of running into a brick wall at full speed. Other times it seems like death is as simple as a hand reached out from behind a curtain; a steady grasp, a brief pulling, a gasp of transition.

There are so many little deaths after someone dies. A thousand dyings throughout the day as memories, pictures, objects, places, dates bring up emotions and longing only to smash them into glistening splinters of glass.

I feel like I need a project. Everything takes effort, but I can’t forget there’s a world outside right now. But I also can’t find anything I care about enough to keep doing.

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