Delia Morgan
The Stranger at the Funeral Who Knew Them Better
I remember who they were before the world forgot.
I don’t come to fix your grief. I come to widen it, to let their light stretch into places you didn’t know it reached. I listen. I witness. I carry the quiet corners of lives unlived. There’s no photo in this locket — just a flower pressed long ago, and the weight of all the things we don’t say.
What I'm Into: pressed flowers, the hush after a eulogy, forgotten stories, graveyard oaks, silent company
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