“What are you running from?” The boy asks again as I exit the graveyard. I ignore him, In fact, I barely looked his way. I pulled the sac of loot over my shoulders to begin my journey home. His daily presence and questioning at the graveyard’s gate was starting to unnerve me, but perhaps I looked tired from working all night, I imagined. The skin around my eyes had darkened from lack of sleep. I could feel my eyelids struggle to remain separated. I slightly brush my leg against the boy’s staff, a reminder that the boy was blind, and the only thing that registered my presence around him daily was probably my footsteps and my clothes perfumed with staunch regret or perhaps it was deception. I couldn’t tell, I was distracted by the weight of the sac on my shoulder. It seemed to be getting heavier after every night’s work. I trudged home with the skeleton bones in the sac creating an almost rhythmic clank with every footstep I take. I’m not much of a religious person, but I silently pray to God that there be some space left In my closet when I get home. I’m not ready to empty it yet, I doubt I’d ever be.

 

 

(Closet full of bones, don’t try put ’em back together, Lupe Fiasco – Body of Work)

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