As we advance in years, we find time has made some people superfluous to us or has made us unnecessary to other people. To us, as to them, we become for all intents and purposes the living dead. There is a particular frustration character to grieving our living breathing losses. They are present but forever absent. It is a state that is not so final but quite as devoid of any hope.
In the past, it seemed these souls were destined to accompany us through life, but then gradually or somehow without warning, they’re lost to us forever. Their memory becomes an abstract figment of dreams.
The living dead. They are our friends, our family, our lovers, physically they still exist but are always separated by the unbridgable and ever yawning gape of time.
In the past, it seemed these souls were destined to accompany us through life, but then gradually or somehow without warning, they’re lost to us forever. Their memory becomes an abstract figment of dreams.
The living dead. They are our friends, our family, our lovers, physically they still exist but are always separated by the unbridgable and ever yawning gape of time.
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