If you keep watchful enough you’ll see it. The people… have become posters. Glazed, 2d, the way a memory alters the view; an extra height to that building, a wider hall than it was. An embrace that was just a hug. 

The realness slips away… like what death does… it distorts. Grief is the journey through a tunnel of mirrors, reflecting truth, undeniable, unrecognizable. 

Same picture same picture same picture same picture same picture

So you know the names, you know the faces, the face, a face. 

There are so many more faces… they slip away… into albums, saved on a phone, saved in a book. Stories, grasping at wisps of tales of life. 

And if they aren’t dead, they’re altered, manipulated, frozen, glazed, memories of this grief, it’ll come up to the surface once in a -. And we see how it goes for the dead, the eternally disappeared. We see what the grief does to them, to us. 

A mirror hall of memories, reflecting a fading truth. 





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