We Do It For The Living

Someone died yesterday.

Cold and quiet bodies fill the parking lot. They talk and whisper under the pale sun. A baby sobs.

“We ain’t shit. We think we rock but in the end we ain’t shit.” She smiles. And then she cries. She can’t believe it. She just can’t believe it. Not when his scent still fills her lungs. Not when his things are still where he left them, as if he was to return at any moment to pick up his keys and kiss her again.

“We ain’t shit.”

I’m hugging my cousin. We haven’t spoken in the last year. We have never been friends or enemies but somehow I feel that today we are as close as we’ll ever get. I want to tell him I’m sorry. I want to tell him everything will be fine. I want him to know that I would burn the sun and drown the sea if only that would make him feel any better.

I hold him closer. He’s way taller than me. His hand strokes my hair and he says “I know I can count on you.” I don’t know who’s comforting who.

As I walk away I keep repeating to myself that we do it for the living.

We go on for the living. We keep on for the living. We live for the living.

Suddenly I realize I haven’t said a word.


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