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Geoffrey
sister cries, Mum wears dark sunglasses. I feel bad for not crying as
the priest mumbles what a great man he was. It never ended though;
he kept coming back as napkins behind coffee tables or cigarette
stubs. These things will always remind me of him.
He will never leave.
Because he is in all of us, even me. I am him, Dad is him.
We are all him.
I don’t know when I’ll let him go.
Ninety-One and
OUT
.
‘
9