shattered

Every night it's a new scenario. Last night she was driving my truck and crashed into an electric pole, I pulled her out and carried her from the burning truck. Her face looked into mine. I can still feel her in my arms. She was going to be okay... I can still feel her in my arms.

The night before the doctor's did it.. found a cure, healed her..

I know I'm obsessed.

I know it's unhealthy.

I know I should get over it.

I know I need to live.

I know I have to accept what i don't accept.

I just want to lay down and melt into the dirt. I just want to become one with the soil. I just want to evaporate.

Her freckles came out on my arm somehow. I never had freckles before. Except maybe one, here or there...

I think I wasn't finished, becoming a human, I wasn't ready to be on my own.

Why the hell am I like this? So angst ridden? It's an old, old story... the dying thing. it's not unique.. parents die. people die. We lose people we love.. they go away. There are no answers. It's the human condition, or, the living/breathing being condition. I learned it early with kittens and bunnies and snakes and mosquitoes.. I did cry for them, too, of course.. even the mosquitos. And it felt really, really bad then.. but i was a child. I'm not anymore and It still feels so overwhelmingly sad to me. I understand that people die. I get it. I get it. I get it. I really do.

But she wasn't suppose to die.

At all.

Ever.

She was suppose to get old. Her hair was suppose to turn grey, and then white. She was suppose to see her great grand babies. She was suppose to come visit me and go to the zoo with me. We were suppose to plant flowers together. We were suppose to go see Bye Bye Birdie for Mother's Day. Life was suppose to be good. The sun was suppose to continue to shine on her face just like it shines on mine.

Her laughter chased away my tears.

We watched Schreck II together. The last movie we watched.. the last time we went out. The day I almost dumped her from the wheelchair, but then caught her at the last minute. The day she ordered the cinnamon roll she couldn't eat. The day she said, let me buy.. the day she held my hand under the table.

a month before she died.

before they burried her.
and her eyelids closed over her emerald speckled eyes
for the last time

and yes
i think i am depressed

and yes
the she would want me to live

but last night i held her
and felt her in my arms
and heard her voice
and saw her face

and now im broken all over again