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a dark and dreary day it could have been, a funeral procession, heads hung in mourning numbers,a young woman in infinite slumber, buried in rich red velvet and dark mahogany; her friends and family in agony. they ask,''why did she want to leave? to go, and make us grieve?'' the thick gray headstone might have read, our daughter, forever, we lay her to bed. then they'd walk away, weeping and she'd just be sleeping.... that was the way it could have been, after weeks and months, maybe ten years would go by and one would query '' who was that girl, so young it was eerie, that she would want to die, even before she gave life a try.'' or ask, ''think of her mother, what must she feel? does she still think if this is actually real? or does she wish her baby will still come home?'' even though now her soul might roam in the wide open world she needed to severely, despiter the people she hurt so badly.. that was almost the way things turned out, death seemed the only way to go about the confusion inside her heart and soul, that pain added to all other hurts- the whole suffering- that came with the package. all that bottled emotion turned to rage, she found a self-destructive outlet, her way of sceaming, but beig quiet enought for no one to hear, her pain, and all that fear, of dying in that grotesque way, wanting to go, needing to stay.. that is not the way things are now, she has learned, and she knows how to feel pain and cry, letting it all go and float away with the breeze, so she is happier, her mother doesnt ask why he friends dont wear black, marching by her grave, her family doesnt weep at the memories they so painstakingly keep. now all together they can sit in the sunshine, making new memories and laughing away the time. she loves what life gives her, even if it invokes a tear to folr, she is glad to even be here.
