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The Walk To The Graveyard

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It’s dark tonight. The moon is hidden behind an indefinite mass of clouds, and the street smells of gasoline and sunflower seeds.

An odd combination. I’m not entirely sure how that came to be.

I have no idea where I’m going. Nor do I care. That’s the glory of being numb.

I pass a church and stare into those windows. I see the world span out in front of me. Something’s eluding me, I know it. But the stained glass lens through which I see the world makes everything too pretty for me to care.

Maybe if I open my eyes a little wider I can see the whole picture. I know of no safer way to reach the breaking point.

I pass the church and a while later I reach the graveyard. I stand in the street, staring into the expanse of the dead, and for some reason I am compelled to enter.

I could have sworn I saw them moving. Shadows, calling out to me with their faint, echoing voices.

I stand in the center of this yard and the gravity of realizing I do not belong here cripples me. Those voices were not calling me in. They were pushing me away.

This place makes me want to cry.

And suddenly I wonder why I came here at all.





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