298 of 365

I spent hours negotiating with her. Telling her what to do, how to do it and when to do it. It was a tiring ritual that I had gotten used to over the past 20 odd years. Day in and day out, I found that I was repeating myself. The words tumbled out in the same fashion, the material stopped changing. The patterns, however, remained. I never learned. I persisted, painstakingly. Eventually, it dawned on me that it was pointless. A lie rather. It was in my head after all. That is the biggest problem when you negotiate with the dead. The response is stoic. Zilch. Nada.

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