RIC Journal

He used to tuck her in … and sleep would come like a prayer does to the lips… but of late she began to turn the lights out earlier, knowing he won’t call, or call out. She moved from one room to the next, tucking the children into their wonderfully simple worlds; and as she went from bed to bed, she secretly tucked him into her veins; slowly, cautiously, preciously weaving him into her skin and then her blood… this would go too.. the indescribable intensity…
one can’t tell loss from a fall… both happen abruptly, without a warning and leave your journey changed entirely. It felt like she was carrying the weight of too many lives in one. The return to one’s old world feels like coming home to a house where someone has rearranged your furniture. It’s a disorienting feeling. The only comfort in a sad place is…

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