when someone dies, I do not feel a thing. I become numb, I almost become deaf and I am never dumb. I am the first to comfort the bereaved and offer words of support, while I am usually more than a mess inside. For everyone close to me, I have thought of their death at least once, imagined their after-life and said a silent prayer against it. I don’t know, I honestly do not.
Hearing the news of death, I become a domestic wolf. I don’t fear life or fear death, I don’t cry for the dead nor do I show pain. I just sit, as a perfect mess, like a diluted stone. Hearing of someone’s death, I don’t ask God why, nor do I question the cause. I just swim beside a basket that is constantly leaking the truth that I am next; and that will be it – all I have been, all I am and all I want to be comes to end.