Finding Beauty in Grief

I can’t write about anything else until I write about something that I don’t think is mine to write about.  It is someone else’s story, many others’ stories, actually, and yet it has found an uncomfortable home inside of my thoughts and it will reside there, clogging up every other feeling until I let it go into the world of letters, which will possibly make it into words, which hopefully will string into a sentence, which will maybe make some sort of semblance of explanation. I imagine death as a line between here and there.  “There” may be something to some, and to others it is nothing. ...

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