We cried in each other’s arms and I thought that was the end, that we had finished the job of burying him with those late tears. But who knows who long a grief may last? Isn’t it possible that, even thirty or forty years after the death of child or a brother or a sister, one may half-waken, thinking of that person with that same lost emptiness, that feeling of places which may never be filled… perhaps not even in death?
-Stephen King
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