Another one.
Why is it always in winter?
It's the saddest time of year anyway, and I suppose that anyone who thinks about it, thinks about it in winter.
It's just that it's bitter outside.
And the holes are dug with an excavator anyway, but nobody wants to be out there, dressed for it or not.
Dressing up for a funeral is like stapling your good intentions onto a cloud.
You can never quite do it the way it would need to be done in order for it to matter.
And it's cold outside. Bitter cold.
But there we all were anyway, walking on frozen ground in our summer shoes because those looked better.
Skipping class to be there, not caring if we were supposed to have asked, or if we would be asked about it later.
No-one asked.
A friend we knew, surrounded by a lot of people we didn't know, and enclaves of the ones of us who were there be
cause we were so confused that we couldn't figure out where else to go.
It seemed like we had better show up, just in case.
In case it mattered.
I think it mattered.
