tiff
23rd April 2004, 10:05
Title: She Was
Rating: R for language
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
No one should have to go to their own funeral.
But here I am. Yes. Here I am. Dead and somehow still dying. The flowers I hold are full of life. Vibrant and golden. Like her. Like how I’ll always rememberthinkdream her as. It is written in stone that an angel has passed. A warrior. A truthseeker. A loved one.
I torture myself here as I gaze down at my dead lover’s face. So pale and lifeless. Such a mockery of what she was.
She was. She was. She was. She was an angel. She was a fighter. She was a truthseeker. She was a loved one. She was she was she was.
Trust me when I say she was. Trust me in everything I say about her but nothing else. Nothing else because nothing else has meaning to me. I couldn’t care less about anything else because she’s gone. She was alive and she was with me and she was. She was. Now she’s not. She is not.
Her hand was cold the last time I held it. It was cold and still. I’m sure if I tried again, I’d find it exactly the same. Cold and still. Just like how the rest of her is. Just like how she never was. No, she never was.
This is my funeral just as much as it is hers. She’s lying in that casket with my heart clutched in her hands, figuratively. But no. This isn’t her. This was her. Because she was. She was alive. She was.
She is was always will be the only thing that ever really matters mattered will matter to me.
Why am I here? She isn’t. No, just this shell, this mockery left in her place. This cold and empty and completely still thing that could never pass for her. Because she was vibrant and golden. She was alive. She was.
She fucking WAS and now she fucking ISN’T. And what do I do now? Huh? What the fuck do I do now? In this – in this HELL because she’s heaven and there’s other place to be when she’s not with me. Anywhere I am without her is hell and anywhere she is is heaven.
But she ISN’T now is she? No, she was. She was.
Who am I – what am I without her? I don’t know. I never wanted to be in a position to know. I can’t remember how my life was before her, because it was, and now I just can’t imagine how I could have survived all those years without her. I don’t know how I’m surviving now. Because she was and she’s not here. Because she was.
Everyone’s left now. I hadn’t noticed. I finally tear my eyes from – it’s not her, not anymore – the body, the shell of my lover, and find the cemetery empty. Empty like the dull ache where my heart should be. Empty like her eyes before I closed them. Empty. Hollow. Bereft. I am less because she was always more. She was.
I am and she was and is no more. No, she was. She was more than I could have ever hoped to be and now I can’t because she was. She isn’t now, but she was. She was.
The end.
AN: the end's weak, I know, but I got distracted by a mosquito in my room...I can't find it.
Rating: R for language
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
No one should have to go to their own funeral.
But here I am. Yes. Here I am. Dead and somehow still dying. The flowers I hold are full of life. Vibrant and golden. Like her. Like how I’ll always rememberthinkdream her as. It is written in stone that an angel has passed. A warrior. A truthseeker. A loved one.
I torture myself here as I gaze down at my dead lover’s face. So pale and lifeless. Such a mockery of what she was.
She was. She was. She was. She was an angel. She was a fighter. She was a truthseeker. She was a loved one. She was she was she was.
Trust me when I say she was. Trust me in everything I say about her but nothing else. Nothing else because nothing else has meaning to me. I couldn’t care less about anything else because she’s gone. She was alive and she was with me and she was. She was. Now she’s not. She is not.
Her hand was cold the last time I held it. It was cold and still. I’m sure if I tried again, I’d find it exactly the same. Cold and still. Just like how the rest of her is. Just like how she never was. No, she never was.
This is my funeral just as much as it is hers. She’s lying in that casket with my heart clutched in her hands, figuratively. But no. This isn’t her. This was her. Because she was. She was alive. She was.
She is was always will be the only thing that ever really matters mattered will matter to me.
Why am I here? She isn’t. No, just this shell, this mockery left in her place. This cold and empty and completely still thing that could never pass for her. Because she was vibrant and golden. She was alive. She was.
She fucking WAS and now she fucking ISN’T. And what do I do now? Huh? What the fuck do I do now? In this – in this HELL because she’s heaven and there’s other place to be when she’s not with me. Anywhere I am without her is hell and anywhere she is is heaven.
But she ISN’T now is she? No, she was. She was.
Who am I – what am I without her? I don’t know. I never wanted to be in a position to know. I can’t remember how my life was before her, because it was, and now I just can’t imagine how I could have survived all those years without her. I don’t know how I’m surviving now. Because she was and she’s not here. Because she was.
Everyone’s left now. I hadn’t noticed. I finally tear my eyes from – it’s not her, not anymore – the body, the shell of my lover, and find the cemetery empty. Empty like the dull ache where my heart should be. Empty like her eyes before I closed them. Empty. Hollow. Bereft. I am less because she was always more. She was.
I am and she was and is no more. No, she was. She was more than I could have ever hoped to be and now I can’t because she was. She isn’t now, but she was. She was.
The end.
AN: the end's weak, I know, but I got distracted by a mosquito in my room...I can't find it.