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How do I describe this heart ache? This awful pain of knowing you are dead. Not of the living anymore. So I received it today, not knowing what was in the thin manila package.. and with one cut of the scissors it opened up the crack to look inside. Beautiful as it was to see the edge of your book; a midnight lavender, waiting for my fingers to touch it. What should have brought me pleasure, instead, echoed instant sadness to know that you are immortal. IMMORTAL!! Fuck. The pain this causes me, you will not know. Or do you? Are you right next to me as I even write this emotional blog about you? Laughing at me as to holding a dim candle to the life that you once were. Your head always in silenced agony. I know you would be mocking me in a kind but cynical way of saying something profound.

Yet, tears have come to my eyes that I cannot even focus on the title of your book, so instead of opening the pages to view your work, I felt the sensation of the heat penetrating on the tips of my fingers. It was warm and hot and saturated from the heat of the outside delivery. It’s still hot here in Vegas. And the 96.8 degree temperature heat accumulation in my mail box, gave life to your book, like it was your body against me. Without thinking, I took this beautiful book of your poetry work, pressed it immediately against my heart and felt you. My heart beating against your book. Pounding heart and with intense rhythm. Then pressing it up against my cheeks, now rosied from the warm book jacket – then against my lips and — my mouth to FEEL you. God Leigh, why so soon? Why did you have to exit out of this hemisphere so quickly? My anticipation of reading your work again is asphyxiating me. The pull you still have over me will take a lifetime to understand why..

Hope in the Well of Angst by Leigh Binder

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