Shedding The Tear of Loss

Gothic grave

We are in a funeral… I see someone I know. She is a friend of Mama’s. She is Rosaline. A devotee of the Holy Ghost faith. She is busy, busy washing utensils. I walk past her and smile. She smiles back…

I’m in a “matatu” ‘’a public service vehicle.’’ I’m dressed in a custom-made company shirt. It is white with blue cuffs protruding longer than my blue slim fit blazer’s.

I alight at bus station. To darkness. Blur and nothingness.

I’m back at the funeral. I don’t see my blazer anymore, but I can feel flip-flops under my feet.

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