The Dead

All those dead, too many, gnawing at my soul, tearing me apart, knowing I couldn’t save them, can’t save the ones still alive, it drives me crazy this inability to escape death.

Their graves are not far, their bodies rotting beneath my feet, their spirits forever etched into my brain.

I don’t believe in anything but I know that love lives on

His soul swooned softly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead

James Joyce, ‘The Dead’

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