The quiet church is draped with a coat of shadows, adorned with a still darkness.
Futile squeezes of the hand bring no comfort for what has been lost.
One, two, three dear friends rise to spread their tales of what once was.
A family, seated up front, three fatherless children, stare into their laps.
One mother, all alone, the role of Dad cast upon her.
Not even Thor's Hammer could pound an emotion from my face of stone.
My mind manages to collapse into itself somehow, into a place that is silent.
Waves of colorful, yet somehow muted flowers, rippled with candle accents distract from what rests in the center of the room.
Blank faces reveal no news except for despair, and crumbled tissues pepper the floor between the pews.
The hunched backs of strangers appear defeated, crushed by an unseen force.
My eyes catch the eyes of a nameless face in the reflection of that box.
That shiny black box, gathering the attention of everyone in the church.
The nameless face and I look away from each other, yearning instead for the eyes we will never meet again.
-A.F.
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