Photography assignment at the cemetary. Someone tells me it's my age that's making me uncomfortable. Walking around with my camera, looking for images. Of course, transience. Might as well dig up one of the bodies for transience. There's an end to everything. Thank God.
My dad's lying around here somewhere.
I can't find his grave. Bad daughter. Everybody has a statue of a boy playing with marbles these days, so that's a pretty shitty landmark. I find it eventually. People walk by with carts of plants and compost. They make things grow on the graves of the people they love. I'm here with my Nikon. So I take a picture.
Letting go is not what hurts. It's the holding on. I'm so tired of both.
If someone can tell me why everything keeps moving, I might lose the constant urge to stand absolutely still and scream my lungs out.
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