/ her waking up in the middle of the night, haunted by remembrance when days prior she'd hugged or offered comfort to those who'd passed.
she was a good mentor, it's just she didn't want her mentee to die; and in turn it haunts her.
/ im imagining mags keeping trinkets, or things she associates to people she's mentored through the years -- simply because she doesn't wish to forget, she refuses to. i'm contemplating saying she has a book, scrawled with the names of tributes who'd passed,
i fear my anger. so i displace it, attach it to peripheral places or people. i have stifled it so long that i have packed it like dynamite, i have stored it and now it threatens to come out in explosions i fear.