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Morphine in March

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Our minds are a strange region indeed. I don’t know why I chose to write about Patrick sitting in the dark. Perhaps it was simply the best way to hide the tears. The memories used to be constant. Now, my mind is starting to block out the fact that he’s not here. Somewhere from deep within, it has made the natural decision to move the only way possible – to acknowledge that the pain is still too much to bear, and that in these real time moments the reconciliation of his death is far from being achieved. There is no way to move forward. Being alone with my thoughts wasn’t healthy; being surrounded by people seemed worse. I often thought being stoned, drinking wine,

and lying with my head in my lover’s lap having my scalp caressed helped; but that was a mere distraction from my thoughts. I would pretend to be hers for the night, but vivid memories of laying on his couch being stoned, drinking, wine, talking about literature and life and sadness and salvation and inner peace guided my smiles. How do you answer the person you loved when they smile back and ask what you’re thinking? If you truly love that person, You simply lie.

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