this year, both my grandmothers, to each i direly loved - died. and it made me feel so old. as old as the earth itself. like feeling the roots of trees crawling in micro seconds to move an inch. but at the same time, i could feel all the tiny roots, brushing, softer than the wind, but sharper than a blade. i stand afar watching the tree stood stiller than the deadest silence. and breathing appeared to mean nothing because how can it? ; (and with unspoken anger i say) - i can’t hear it anymore.
i know what i am writing is total nonsense.
but feeling and knowing about what happened to the souls who died?
i dare you to tell me it is the same thing.
— the second night of the second death of my grandmother
