They brought out the beer and the wine but this was no celebration. Enough tears were shed today to fill a couple inches of this room. Morality is hopeless.
I will never be able to smell clay again without cringing, remembering. He was laying there, so stiff just like my grandmother was a little over a month before. I kept seeing his chest rise and fall out of the corner of my eye, imagined his fingers slightly move. The mind is a tricky thing.