I can’t remember when and how I developed my fear of dead people. For a solid horror junkie, I can’t stand to be in one room with a corpse. And you know that.
Hope was the only thing I was holding on to when I received the message. Maybe they were mistaken. Maybe its a cruel joke.
I passed by the spot we last met. Your head on my shoulder, telling me how much you missed me. I laughed and told you I’ll always be here just like the old days.
I can’t help but cry. A little girl saw me and looked concerned. I bowed my head down, maybe they were mistaken.
“Are you ready?”, your cousin asked. It was at this point that I realized I’m no longer afraid of corpses.
As I made my way slowly to the white coffin, I developed a new fear. I’m horribly afraid to look beyond the glass and see your face. Maybe they were mistaken. Or maybe this is a dumb joke.
The first thing I saw was your striped polo, I can’t walk further. Thats your favorite shirt.
Then I saw your thin lips, your long eyelashes, your wide forehead. Hope left me.
I broke down. My tears overflowed. I looked down and look at you again hoping my eyes are tricking me. I closed my eyes hard, pinched myself. Maybe this is a nightmare.
But the hurt inside my heart is real. As real as your body inside that box, looking peaceful.
You told me you’re gonna be busy. I told you its okay, I’ll be here. You can text me or call me when you’re available.
You told me you’ll be busy, you didn’t tell me you’d leave me behind.