Posted by: Ingrid | July 10, 2007


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.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: