by Ryn Gargulinski | May 1, 2013 | death, poetry, writing
I fear it. I embrace it. I let it keep me up at night. I poke at it with a stick. I get skeeved when I have to touch it and pull out an old pair of pajamas to wrap up my rat and bury him. I abhor it. I adore it. I really don’t adore it I just...
