moreyears//silence, clear

EDITORIALIMAGE // SARAHABAD&HIBBAZAFAR

what are you supposed to say when their faceless visages are Blurred with grief turned away from the place of the person whom they all knew and whom you knew too but whom you did not too you sit through the words they say and watch the Thin Willow Leaves perhaps, you think, there is a spirit of the creek and that you may Run away together and in this way you Miss the whole occasion - to live in the way of Small Things the pinch of the pants they made you wear the Hatred of having to wear a white pin the dreariness of the day when all that you want to do is to do they cry and you may only feel Uncomfortable awkward, unable to to touch, to speak words only to give space and then space is for You distance, sire you have lost, and yet you have Not Lost they have lost and you cannot understand it there is only No. 1: Acceptance there are no stages for you you are not capable of Comprehension if you cannot Feel you are nothing so monstrous the day is sepia-Toned, Underwater stained like with the warmth of Alcohol stains - you are Not Scared of them finding out for what if they do? there is not anything they can do for the space around your heart was carved out a long while Ago and left beside the stone where the Egrets are the flowers are bright yellow in the grass perhaps this is a different way of grieving, you think only, years later nothing has happened and you do not think of it for it Never mattered

Well perhaps nothingbut what is comfort is it not that which you are unable to Give?

To find beauty in something monstrous

An absence of desire does not mean an absence of fondness

To become detested - it was not hard, only a little trying

If they cannot see me then I am not here I have not become something that I was not already