(no subject)
i still light a candle under a picture of my grandma and cry as the wick catches the flame. it's been fifty days now. i wonder what her body looks like today, under all that earth. we've been here just eight weekends. it's all moving so fast and i just want it all to freeze still and silent or move to fast that the shapes are blurred. thanksgiving is coming and the candle smells of vanilla but the air smells of rain and spring weeds. nothing will ever be the same. nothing has ever been the same, i suppose.