There will be days when you will want to cry but tears won’t come.There will be days where everything would seem meaningless and emotions will be hollow. There will be days when even the funniest jokes would leave you broken on the bathroom floor later. There will be days when you will be surrounded by people—friends, but you’ll be lonelier than ever. And they will try to cheer you up, and you’ll fake a smile.
Then there will be days when all you’ll want to do is be alone. Just you and your penknife. Your skin as your canvas. Your clothes damp with blood that’s been running stale.
And let me tell you, it will be on days like these that reality will hit you. You’ll be able to filter your friends from acquaintances. You’ll finally be able to see what actually matters—who actually matters.
It will be after days like these, that you will find Him caressing your soul. The fog will clear as you free yourself from that black hole you used to call life. It will be peace from the on. Eternal peace.
For no one disturbs the dead.
I could see the others turning shades of brown and yellow. Their lush green gradually being replaced by a splendid crimson and chrome. It had arrived.
Autumns cold brush had painted the entire garden into warm colors of death. Some trees were still speckled with green leaves, I noticed; but by tomorrow, every treetop will be ablaze in blinding flames of auburn.
Below me was a layer of dead leaves , carpeting the recently raked lawn. My siblings lay ominously far beneath me. I still had tiny dots of green, I noticed. A few hours maybe, and I’ll be amongst my lost friends. I too will fall.
The sadistic fall wind snaked through the tree branches. The same branches which once boasted lush leaves and flowers. Just a few months ago, they were the kaleidoscope of nature’s palette, now all that could be seen everywhere, was the coulour of blood when it has run stale.
She came for my tree next, blowing off any weak leaves that came in her way. It was my time now. Because everything that soars must fall.
The wind yanked at my stalk. I resisted instinctively. Death surrounded me. I held on tighter. Mother nature was determined. I want to live. Your time is up. Gravity sided up with them. My branch let go.
And so I returned to where I had risen from. My cradle now serving as my grave.