I apologize, my beloveds, in advance for the words that are born by teeth and tongue, and spill over to my lips and onto my pensive fingers caressing the keys like an impassioned lover.
I am in an odd mood, to say the least; I shan't try to pull apart the threads of my tangle of emotions, for that will lead to madness should I slide down the spiral.
I hope he is okay.
I hope he is okay.
I hope he is okay.
I will never be properly prepared for death.
No matter how many times I have encountered Death's face, no matter how many times I steel myself to realize that my loved ones are growing older,
no matter how many times I try to reconcile myself with its finality,
I will never be properly prepared for death.
I await my Mother's voice over the phone with bated breath, hoping with all my heart for a sigh of relief but preparing for tears.
God, he can't die.
He just. can't. die.
My family will be destroyed...nothing will be the same...I never want to see my grandmother cry.
God, this waiting is killing me.
Bright Eyes and Sigur Ros through my speakers now, one after the other, because malaise only seems proper. The merry beat of a snare seems almost blasphemous against this backdrop of tears and waiting.
Phone, ring.
Conor, sing to me again of poisoning myself and babies turning blue when they're ignored like the sky on summer days.
"In a coma you don't dream, you just hope that someone sits with you"...
...Comfort.
I am in an odd mood, to say the least; I shan't try to pull apart the threads of my tangle of emotions, for that will lead to madness should I slide down the spiral.
I hope he is okay.
I hope he is okay.
I hope he is okay.
I will never be properly prepared for death.
No matter how many times I have encountered Death's face, no matter how many times I steel myself to realize that my loved ones are growing older,
no matter how many times I try to reconcile myself with its finality,
I will never be properly prepared for death.
I await my Mother's voice over the phone with bated breath, hoping with all my heart for a sigh of relief but preparing for tears.
God, he can't die.
He just. can't. die.
My family will be destroyed...nothing will be the same...I never want to see my grandmother cry.
God, this waiting is killing me.
Bright Eyes and Sigur Ros through my speakers now, one after the other, because malaise only seems proper. The merry beat of a snare seems almost blasphemous against this backdrop of tears and waiting.
Phone, ring.
Conor, sing to me again of poisoning myself and babies turning blue when they're ignored like the sky on summer days.
"In a coma you don't dream, you just hope that someone sits with you"...
...Comfort.
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
lujo:
My poor angel. It hurts me so much to know that you are sad. My grandfather died a year and a half ago and it was just crushing. I don't know whether its better to know its coming or to have it be over quickly. My grandfather had lung cancer and was sick for at least a year. In the last few months, it was all about waiting. I was like you; every time the phone rang I held my breath wondering if that day would be the day. I hope that things get better and you don't have to go through this now. I will be thinking of you and wishing for the best. You are so darling and beautiful. Love Lindsey.
lujo:
he is okay. he wont die. love is eternal