Today my tongue tastes yellow, not like lemons, but like nicotine stained fingertips, or young pus on the cusp of turning pea green. That’s what it is—my tongue tastes like infection. Tastes like your moldering death and sticky linoleum. Tastes like November 7th, the day I learned you’d died in that goddamned apartment with no one to mourn you but your fucking cat. It comes out of nowhere and somewhere both at once, this yellow sick. It begins in my belly, and travels upward through my esophagus, coating my mouth. Bile, oil viscous. Yes, this is the taste of my grief.
brilliant.
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Thank you. I just had to come up with a way to express my grief. ❤
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Thank you!
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Damn. Respect.
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💕💕💕 thank you!
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I agree with Basilike.
Your grief and how you write about it, is beautiful Kindra. As brutal as that is. 💙
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Well praise the Lord my friend
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and it speaks of grief, longing, and desperation to lose a loved one and not present there at that fateful moment.
You have no idea how much it speaks to me. Love and hugs to you Kindra.
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Thank you for your kind words. I’m sending you all of my love, sweet Megha. ❤❤❤
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Thanks so much Kindra.And same to you love.
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❤ ❤ ❤ I really do love you, my friend. You're an inspiration. Thank you ❤
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Thanks Kindra. This means a lot to me.
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❤ ❤ ❤
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Kindra. Sometimes I just want to see you rather than write something. I think that can speak more. This would be one of those times. You are a beautiful life.
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Oh, Candice. I wish often that we could look at one another and share our souls. You’re beautiful. ❤❤❤
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I love this piece, even though I’d rather you never had to write it.
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I know, dear heart. Thank you so much! ❤
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