The book of life in its own unique sense of reality has a word melancholy written all over it. I drift away in somber like a leaf carried helplessly by the flowing water without its consent. There are tears welling up inside waiting to be shed, to flow down the cheeks to free itself. These tears have waited too long wrapped up within the masquerading smiles that have misled many, feigning to be strong. As I sit alone beside your grave, the flood gates open to spiflicate all the treasured memories unable to evade the truth anymore. With all the world around, this is me crumbling away to dust. Hope you forgive me for all the words unsaid, the love left unexpressed. You left me behind as a parched leaf taking a chunk of me, never to return again. Funny, instead of feeling lighter today, I sense the burden of my soul even more. The world eludes me making it harder to differentiate between reality and dream, this quiet disturbs me even more than the noise of the crowd hovering over your grave. I feel the crushing pain in every cell of my body watching you tumble into a fortified box. This is life, a delusion digressing from the truth, waiting to shatter the ego, the caricature of the mean self demoing its eminence. They say you were a mere lifeless stuffed toy but to me you meant the world my dear best friend.
26 April 2014