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Here. 

Sitting alone

In a room full of 

Familiar strangers
She wishes hard 

That she could reach

For contact outside her

Own skin’s prison. 
For her

Everything is inside

Nobody knows that her hands

Are trembling; shaking her fresh

Manicure. She pulls her fingers to her lips hoping to stop them

To pause

Before she speaks. 
She smiles and nods 

Hoping to look softer than

She knows she is. 
She won’t be remembered. 

The casual conversation flips

In her mind 

And twists itself 

Into her love for her own quiet space

Home. 
Still. She sits. 

A stranger in a room

Of familiar faces. 
June 20, 2015

For a Friend

Our reality is always qualified by opposites. 

Light and dark

Joy and pain

Here and there

Death and life
But we do not exist in absolutes. 

We are always on the continuum. 

One is not the absence of the other

There is no absolute zero of reality 

There is no complete stillness in life

There is movement still in death. 
An object at rest stays at rest. 

The body without life may rest in peace. 

But the final breath that escapes our lungs as our bodies relax for the last time pushes our existence further. 
Memory is energy. We remain our earthly selves in the minds of those we have touched after we have exhaled our final glittering moment at the end of a string of glittering moments. 
Death marks the best beginning of any life. 
Death is marred by a fear of impermanence in existence. It is revered as the final and permanent end to all opportunity. 
Death is not to be feared. Death is carved out for the bravest of all creatures. Those who have fought, and won may be victors. But those who have fought and lost are our heroes. 
Death is the war medal that we receive once our life has been officially spent. 
Death is the coming home,

A moment of release

A relief from the earthly pains. 
We don’t mourn death. We lament a loss of life. But we have failed to qualify it.
 Death is 

entering the light

Finding perfect joy

Returning to here

Where we all received 

An earthly life.