Grieving, Going

I close the albums. The variations of your smiling face, posing frozen, become painful afterimages. Blinded, I shelve the books by feel.

You recur unpredictably. Sometimes I wish you were a ghost. A haunt can be exorcised; memories can’t.

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5 thoughts on “Grieving, Going

  1. I love the bluntness of “You recur unpredictably.” The prompt word felt a little forced to me, but overall, a very sweet, sad story.

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