Just when I think the world is about me, the universe reminds me its not.

We lost my aunt, unexpectedly, suddenly, and slowly…

Death brings about so much, evoking another person inside you, fighting reality and time seems to be a nuisance.

To swallow death is as to swallow your fist, where would one even begin?

I know one thing, I miss God. I miss Believing. I miss letting go…

How do you find meaning in life after death?

What should my book be about now? Now that everything seems so menace.


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