Skywards
molto larghissimo;
Funerals have always unnerved you.
You can’t quite place why the hair on your arms is standing on edge, or why you are painfully aware of every single breath you take. Perhaps it’s the slow-moving sea of black, or the way in which the church seems to be devoid of life even as a wave of beating hearts move through the doors and spill out onto the stairs. It could be the way that the sky cries great, heavy splotches of rain as you look skywards, wishing for nothing more than a second chance to say all of the things you never had the chance to say, or the way in which the procession walks towards the graveyard in a molto larghissimo; an eternal shuffle of rain and muffled sobbing as you try to comprehend life on your own.
Or perhaps it is the simple fact that, as they lower my body into the ground, you would happily bury yourself alive to lie beside me one last time.
You can’t quite place why the hair on your arms is standing on edge, or why you are painfully aware of every single breath you take. Perhaps it’s the slow-moving sea of black, or the way in which the church seems to be devoid of life even as a wave of beating hearts move through the doors and spill out onto the stairs. It could be the way that the sky cries great, heavy splotches of rain as you look skywards, wishing for nothing more than a second chance to say all of the things you never had the chance to say, or the way in which the procession walks towards the graveyard in a molto larghissimo; an eternal shuffle of rain and muffled sobbing as you try to comprehend life on your own.
Or perhaps it is the simple fact that, as they lower my body into the ground, you would happily bury yourself alive to lie beside me one last time.