My parent died and now the world feels slightly unparented. Cleaning out the house felt like translating a language made of receipts, sweaters, and unfinished lists. People think adulthood prepares you for this and I want to ask them prepared in what sense. The voicemail is so short and still too heavy to keep in my pocket. Every family story has a blank line in it now. I would like one more useless phone call about the weather.
The Wall
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