I had another dream again about her dying. I wonder when I will not dream of this anymore. She probably doesn't know and she probably doesn't care or deserve to.

She died and we had to go looking through her things, clean out her house, all of us sort-of relieved because this meant the worry was over. All of us also dead, a little bit, from grief. Hearts painfully dipping low low low. Revisiting memories of blonde-headed happiness, so many many many years ago, because finally we could think of her that way again.

Sometimes in the morning, I shake the low-hearted feeling by breakfast. Sometimes it sticks around all day, a lazy pallbearer late on taking the casket away.