Not what I imagined

Jane So this is what it is like to be dead. It is not what I imagined. Though imaginings seem very limited now, the things one can dream and feel when we are alive. Now that I am dead. I am dead. What a strange distinction. Between me before, and me now. Before I wasContinue reading “Not what I imagined”

One memory from my sleeping

When the blues come, a cello plays under my skin. A mournful dirge that sinks me into melancholy, pulling me in and under my someone. And somethings. I know all about sirens and their rocks, I know about the luring. It could be so easy to listen to that music on repeat, to follow whereContinue reading “One memory from my sleeping”