On The Way To a Funeral

Travelling in the logic of my current funerary scenario. Along the roads, I see you . I know where you’re going, what you’re doing. All those everyday things that make up life. I could be a part of you, though not today.

It’s like travelling in a glass capsule – my palms pressed flat, fingers spanned and stretched salamander-like on the glass walls. I mouth the word “Death” at you, but you cannot hear. Like a bored kid, I breathe on the window, then write “death” with my fingers in the condensation. You turn away. You don’t want to be part of this.

It reminds me of a school outing – going places we have been with the family, but now, we are in our uniforms, cooped up on a bus, chaperoned by teachers, and it won’t be as much fun as with mum and dad.

 

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