I dreamt of your funeral.
People cried. Sincere tears; wet and freely strewn down their faces. Their grief wasn’t quiet. The sounds of it reached me in sobs or in stories. Your name slipped from their lips like soft memories rising from the breath of the living. Everything good they ever saw in you kept a serenely continued life in the reflective gaze of their eyes.
They watched the hillside; watched the wind whispering across the grass. Peaceful; nothing like your life. The belief they held in you sickened me. The gentle manner that their voices became when they thought of you was like in some small way, they were seeing you again as I watched them.
They were ridiculous; like puppets casting shadows on the wall. Flickering like stage lights but crumbling over the lies that your very life had become.
They cried without hiding place. Tears better spent for those deserving of mercy, but these offerings of mourning, the devil himself held in his hands.
The grave I stood over was too small. It seemed that a man such as yourself, with the impact that you had through the passing of this life, would call for a ditch too large to be buried. And yet, the earth toppled over you in continuous waves of sound.
People wailed as though their tears themselves had knees to fall upon, while they watched you become part of the ground.
My smile was unveiled. I forced it to the surface of my lips for the moment that so many of my dreams had been calling for. Death had taken you away, like a curse lifted at the eve of another day.
You couldn’t think of me anymore. Your thoughts were nowhere; not even in the ground.
I laughed strongly and without fully knowing why.
You were dead, and a new song was born. A song that my mind chased after and sought to trace the elusive contours of its notes. A song with no words and no tune, but rather the realization of a new breath and a new beginning.
You were dead.
And without allowing an arm or a foot to rise or fall…
I danced to this song.
By: Melissa C. Water
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