Friday, March 30, 2018

86/365/Secrets and Lies in 56

I keep glancing across the street at my neighbor’s house, where she is no longer living, because she died suddenly, as we found out yesterday, suddenly, and I cried on the porch next door to hers with her daughter and son-out-law and another friend, thinking it’s a lie it’s a lie it’s a lie it’s a . . .


  1. I'm hoping this is a lie, but sensing it may not be... if it's not one, I'm sorry (as in "Condolences").

  2. Why does the repetition of words so closely match the process of grief?