The 13th Psalm
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The coffin is too small.That's the first thing I notice.Not the flowers. Not the people. Not the pastor readingwords like he's memorized pain and spit it out in clichés.Just the box. Closed. Plain. Wood-grained like that makes itsofter.It doesn't.I sit in the front row, knees locked, hands folded like I carewhat happens next. Mom hasn't blinked in twenty minutes.Her mouth keeps twitching, like she's trying to speak throughshock. Like if she says something-anything-it might bringhim back.It won't.
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Bol
The coffin is too small.That's the first thing I notice.Not the flowers. Not the people. Not the pastor readingwords like he's memorized pain and spit it out in clichés.Just the box. Closed. Plain. Wood-grained like that makes itsofter.It doesn't.I sit in the front row, knees locked, hands folded like I carewhat happens next. Mom hasn't blinked in twenty minutes.Her mouth keeps twitching, like she's trying to speak throughshock. Like if she says something-anything-it might bringhim back.It won't.
Beschrijving
(2)
Bol
The coffin is too small.That's the first thing I notice.Not the flowers. Not the people. Not the pastor readingwords like he's memorized pain and spit it out in clichés.Just the box. Closed. Plain. Wood-grained like that makes itsofter.It doesn't.I sit in the front row, knees locked, hands folded like I carewhat happens next. Mom hasn't blinked in twenty minutes.Her mouth keeps twitching, like she's trying to speak throughshock. Like if she says something-anything-it might bringhim back.It won't.
AmazonPagina's: 402, Paperback, Dove Rowell
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