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by Einav
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1867035
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It hurts especially to say kaddish over somebody
so living in your memory you can't imagine them dead.
The sad words feel funny, silences packed with small pests,
the normal thoughts grotesque
among walls of ornate details and memoirs...

Can't keep it in the past,
continuously pilfer into the present shreds of that time,
ante mot.

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