The smell of damp earth reaching to greet the sky. Your contorted face, lemon still in hand. Last goodbyes. Your sisters wide smile etched in you like a plaque. Guiding words spoken in earnest. The smell of your mother's casserole, stuck to the curtains of your inheritance. Is that your high-school friend you see disappearing in the crowd? A good book. A really, really good book. Finding dog hairs stuck on the carpet, years after the flowers crowded his mound.
#11.
