The last time I saw my brother alive was 18 years ago this week.
The refining fire of August
Comforter
Washed in the weight of grief
Platitudes are crushed by desperation. Fundraisers and emergency supplies are not enough when she cannot be found and even when she is.
The comforts of home
Following his lead does not lead to an inviting home on a temporal plane. It is a battle for the heart and mind against the quiet of fleeting, shallow fulfillment.
thatdaubing 