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The music was somber and slow,
an old, out of tune pipe organ.
The lights were dim, and flickered,
the air heavy against my lungs.
My slow steps are silent, muffled
by the tear stained, worn out carpet.
It was just the two of us there,
standing on either side of the room.
Your eyes remain downcast, angry,
while mine burn stinging red.
We sit down, a suitable distance,
and fear speaking the first word,
for once we begin, it's the end.
"We are gathered here today", at last,
and so you stand, hands cradled
around a well worn box of memories.
I watch you stride to the front
and place the box in the coffin.
You stand back, still looking away,
and then it's my turn, at last.
My box is falling apart, duct taped,
and stuffed to nearly overflowing.
Gently, down beside yours, it lies,
and then we're nearly through.
The lagging music continues to play,
and as my heart begins to break,
we both leave the darkened room.
And that was the funeral of our