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Death

He shares the same name as my love, though I don’t if the Queen ever shortened it to the three letter word that I use. No, I doubt it, though the satirical programmes will have it that he’d call her Liz. I am sorry. I cry because death and loss are moving, any death, even a great public one like his is. I bet they hate all this attention. The BBC has given over to it completely, no John Shea or Celeste this morning – just dirge after dirge after dirge. So be it. It is respectful, I suppose. But then I think of the man in the Oslo flat, found after 10 years dead. Had nobody missed him, noticed his demise? That too is sad, to be so utterly alone and friendless. May he rest in peace and he.

I’ve almost finished but I need to make it warmer, kinder somehow. You don’t have to like them, he says to me. No, I suppose not. But I want to be kind and respectful. I will do my best.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.