Three hours after I passed away, they
became an item. It was sorrow aching,
melancholy needing, they laughed and cried
over my foibles. The pain was cement,
delicate anguish, reaching desperately.
I didn’t pass away; I was beside a
cliff, pushed by the beloved, given a small
violin. They had an arrangement: they
loved in proximity, freedom of love
afar. A person never sees what is
unspoken, never realizes tolerance,
keys to behaviors, assessing what one
will practice. Many walk aside a
stranger, a story, unbeknownst flame.
