Can I write the ending?

Now sixty-seven souls …

bruises you can touch

You could surmise that much of my writing focuses on death and dying, which means I’m writing about life and living in equal measure. Don’t mistake this for my being all morbid, for I am neither of these things. Death and taxes are a certainty for the everyman (and woman), but for me, death is just as meaningful as life. Of course life and death are inextricably linked, but for me the connection is to a point, existential.

Sixty-seven*.

I go through stages where that mulch of memories of the life and death of a particular friend is branded into my brain. This is usually accompanied by night terrors, but I am  grateful I haven’t had any for some time. It got to a point in 2009 where I was too afraid to go to sleep because I feared where my dreams would take me. The sting of grief is…

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