Mourning

She asked me whose death I was mourning.

Depending on the day, I either answered that I was mourning my brother's, my own, or everyone else's.

She asked why it made sense to be perpetually in mourning, rather than happy and with my mind elsewhere.

I answered that I couldn't help but dwell on tragedy and feel a sense of reverence for it. And that it doesn't keep me from being happy.

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