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I Put the 'Fun' in 'Funeral'

I have never enjoyed the smell of flowers. 
I have disappointed every boy who has brought me this offering of their affection when their hope for broad smiles is met with pursed lips.
Maybe it's because I measure the passing years by the distance between funeral processions instead of dates on a calendar. 
I have stood by open graves decorated by splashes of color and wondered how long it would take for their brightness to disappear, too. 
I have lived my whole life in poorly ventilated homes and have watched pollen dance in streaks of sunlight. 
I have swept up discarded petals, thrown out old stems, but the scent still clings to every surface. 
It is a comfort to some, I suppose, to have the constant reminder of what they once had. 
A vigil perched on a counter, denying the slow decay of what they just buried.
But I can live my life without a physical reminder of what I've lost. 

I carry that weight with me everywhere.

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