Still Breathing

He laid covered in a white sheet, his favorite plaid shirt on, eyes closed, lips purple and hands carefully overlapping each other on top of his hard chest. His eyelashes were as long as ever, his fingernails blue, cold. So cold.

I touched him to confirm to my brain what my eyes already knew: he wasn’t there. He wasn’t sleeping. And even if he were, this is a dream I would never see him wake up from. Not this time.

So I kissed his lips. I laid on his chest. I spilled my tears on him as I told him I loved him, one last time. As I thanked him for everything, one last time.

And now I cry, still. On public transportation, during breaks at work, on top of my lovers and pillows, over my phone and cards he wrote me in perfect calligraphy. I cry and scream at how unfair life seems. The good always die young and the young always die good, and I’m still alive and not well, and nothing is good about the way he went.

This clocking in and out doesn’t feel real. The mealtimes and pastimes and friends’ laughter feels like a fog, just a part of all the non quintessential things that make up my life these days.

I’m not dead, but I’m not alive either. All I know to tell them when they ask if I’m fine is this: I’m still breathing.

That’s all I have. That’s all I know.

My breath is rising in and out of my chest.

Categories Creative WritingTags , , , , ,

2 thoughts on “Still Breathing

  1. 20somethingyearoldsmusings October 6, 2015 — 2:39 pm

    Wow…just wow! This really moved me close to tears as it very much resembles myself at my father’s funeral. Reblogging this on my site!

    Like

  2. 20somethingyearoldsmusings October 6, 2015 — 2:41 pm

    Reblogged this on Musings of a 20-Something-Year-Old and commented:
    I just read this post today and it moved me close to tears as it very much resembles me saying my final goodbye to my father at his funeral and the feelings that came after. Great read!

    Like

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