prayer

The smoky wooden incense latches itself gleefully into my hair, chants for the dead resonate into the wooden beams� my knees tingle slightly in response.

And that�s when you remember. Grief never really goes away. You think you are free, but it has only transformed into an old, familiar friend, slipping through the cracks� a seamless, weightless burden you drag onto your shoulders every day.

Now, the new year has really begun.

2012-02-06
7:57 p.m.
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