Sometimes when you are young a man will come and insert a baby weasel into your rectum. Over time it will slowly grow. The growth is greatly slowed down by this environment. The more it grows the more things change in your mind. You begin to think different thoughts.

Once upon a time, not too many years ago, I made a friend. I mean, she was an acquaintance, I said hello in passing. I saw her around and I liked her. She made me laugh and sometimes she was incredibly wise. Some things happened and she became, incredibly quickly, my friend.

Then she died. I didn't say much, because I wasn't her family, or one of her intimate friends, or her old friends. I listened to those people in their grief and I stayed quiet. Sometimes I see or hear something that reminds me of her, and I feel sad all over again, because I miss her. She wasn't a person you needed to know very long or very well to miss. She stood out in the world, and she has left her mark on it.


Sometimes we forget that death is not a moment in time. It has been more than six years now, but last week, for the first time, I heard her voice.

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