about a man named james.
i remember one morning at church, hearing my mom and her friend talking about how he shot himself in the head in his grandma's house. and how they put his ashes in the ocean. i was six or seven years old. i knew him. he was twenty something then. i don't think i remember what he looked like. but we went to the same church. and the car my parents drove then, was the car he used to drive. he was friends with my mom and dad.
i don't know why i thought about this recently. why i remembered suddenly, something that happened so long ago. i feel like i didn't know him. i was only six. but i feel so sad about it still. when i think about it. i don't know why i've been thinking about it.