A big line of people before and ahead of me, like a wave. Endless rooms of pictures of a little girl, that radiant little girl who was so greviously taken. At the end of each room I was afraid there'd be an open casket I'd have to look forward to.
All I had was the paper in my hand to keep me company, the last poem from me she would ever witness, my thoughts of her.
The scent was the strongest in the room where the body lay. But there was just a box-- every inch of that radiant, lovely, amazing young girl was in that urn. Just torn and burned to bits-- it hurt that such a life was squeezed into such a tiny little thing.
Her brother's embrace was unexpected and I'm not sure why, but very enjoyable. He was the one who recived my poem... and I hope the family likes it. But who knows if it acutally gave her life justice.
My broken hearts over everything have strewn my thoughts into non coherent strings... I don't want to eat anymore. It would be lovely to just die for the rest of the year and wake up on new year's day with a fresh coat of snow over this barren... place