Good Grief
The night of my father’s death, I went out by myself all decked in black. Under the glaring disco ball of LeRitz, I broke all my feathers; I twirled and twirled and twirled and, eventually, blacked out, not a single drop of alcohol summoned.
From that evening, there’s only one memento I can hold onto: a note on my phone that simply reads, “The day you departed, after the sun went off and you plunged deeper into your sleep, I danced so I could feel alive.”
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