Empty bones, bones.

April 13th;

The puddle in front of my house was nothing but a shadow by noon. My shoulders we’re heavy with the weight of the world. I thought about how my mom had an infinite collection of Johnny Cash albums. My heart grew heavy when I recalled how she never opened his last one. It’s still in it’s packaging, caged and unheard. It’s like a ghost to me; playing in infinity to pierce ones immense curiosity. It was a little while after he died, I believe, and it just didn’t feel right to open it. But I knew what she meant. There was more spirit and passion within than we could ever understand. At my funeral, I thought, open it: Bury it with my bones.