EVERY THING YOU NEVER HAD

BY: DALANIE BEACH

When the ceiling creaks at night, picture your oldest daughter pacing above you— her restless feet tracing patterns in the carpet. Imagine throwing off the covers, hurtling up the stairs, and putting an end to the entropy.

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Lie still. Remind yourself she no longer lives here.

If grief spreads its wings in your chest, banish it. Turn your back on the cold stretch of bed where her father once slept. Wrap the blankets tight and curl into the dark. 

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