I wore a black dress, black stockings, shiny black shoes with a tiny button strap, a black shawl with tiny embedded silver roses. Proper clothes for the day, and I felt out of place, childish despite my being near 30. The day was actually warm though the mood was grim and cold, and the room was a matching picture of a dull waiting room you might sit in for hours, getting to know every crack in the ceiling, and wondering who could have possibly let a place like this be so monotone.
Among many of the faces were red noses and streaming cheeks, plagued with sadness and some even anger. It wasn't right, the way things went, the way they couldn't be changed, as hard as everyone wished.
A warm musk scent, the feeling you might get at someone else's grandparents house, and sheer confusion, among many emotions, embodied my life for the past two weeks. A confusion that stampeded in sporadic sense through wondering moods, and lingered through the wee hours until I finally rested, momentarily.
You might think I haven't eaten, too sad or displaced to even think of it; in actuality, I have only been eating. Every chance I have to grab hold of anything I might enjoy has been un-relinquishing, a hunger to replace the empty void. Muffins, pasta, meats, and TV diners. I am aware of it, and stay away from alcohol knowingly able to control that which was once a disease on my life.
To say I miss you would be a foolish thing to say, as it seems so foreign this early and pains me too much; To assume I couldn't live without you would seem too unrealistic and naive of me. Everyday is rain, a hurricane of emotions and tears and anger and...and...and everything is wrong.
I stare at your tiny coffin, brown in the most regal sense, and I think and wonder and wish. I felt like a child that day, but you were only ever a child, and would never get to be anything else.