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A Funeral.

Waterproof makeup, perfume.
Black dresses, packs and boxes of tissues.
Room full of people,
Full of flowers.
Knotted stomaches.
Tears waiting to fall.
Some have even come early.
Silence even louder than the music.
All eyes glued to somewhere, to no where.
Anticipation.
"Please stand".
Here we go.
The family walks in slowly,
To the beat of the music,
Like rehearsed before,
Attempting to look their best.
Composure is then a forgotten skill.
The envied courage and strength,
They are an art.
Mastered by no one.
Truly, there is joy in all hearts in that room,
But now is not the time to let it shine.
"You may be seated".
Crossed legs, shaking hands.
Wet tissues, hunched shoulders.
Here we go.





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