One-minute writer again, and yet again, I just couldn’t keep myself to one minute. Someday, someday. I really liked this prompt, I think I have an unhealthy penchant for writing about death. It’s pretty ironic since I am not a depressing person at all, I just really love writing about it! So here you have it:
Survival is relative. I’m still breathing. When I place my hand on my chest, I can still feel a heart beating inside, but there is no life in that heartbeat. When I stand at your grave, I think that they must’ve taken what was left of me and nailed it in there with what was left of you.
You told me once that I was a surviver, and maybe that was true, but if you could see me now, I wonder if you’d be disappointed. Life carries on here, but it’s without you or me.
It seems like I’m always wishing that I could’ve gone with you, asking God why He didn’t take me with you. I watch the sky and I wonder if you’re up there, looking down at me. Mrs. Perkins says that it’s sinful to say that people up in Heaven would want to be looking down on the world they were lucky enough to leave, but I can’t bear to believe that. I like to think you’re up there, somewhere between the colors of the sunset, and if I can just survive through one more day, I’ll see you in the twilight.
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