(Drowning Series - Book One)
Alexandra Ariana Marino; The first born girl in three generations, known as the girl who always smiles and lights up her family's life.
Suddenly tragedy takes hold of her and she loses both of her parents right in fron...
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Alexandra Ariana Marino
Wednesday October 11, 2023
Oftentimes I will just sit and cry and ponder what my funeral will be like some time after I die.
Will people show up in tight black dresses and suits, will they begin to cry when 'See you again' by Wiz Khalifa featuring Charlie Puth begins to play on the small Bluetooth speaker?
Will everyone claim there were no signs while saying I was their best friend through all of their broken sobs?
Will they all take turns leaving a black Rose on my dark oak casket while proceeding to give my cold corpse a kiss on its forehead and saying their final goodbye when they didn't even have time to say hello a few weeks prior.
Will they stand in front of the podium and talk about all of the fun times we shared that I conveniently can't remember.
Will they go home with a heavy heart knowing that I was gone, not because they didn't do enough, but rather because they didn't do anything at all.
Or will it just be another day, and nobody would even think to show up in the first place.
I mean after all, funerals are for the living.
Just like that tumblr quote 'dead people receive more flowers than the living ones because regret is stronger than gratitude', that people claim Anne Frank said but there is no proof of that supposed fact, actually that saying didn't exist anywhere before the year 2000.
I guess it's even easier to make up fabricated stories when you aren't around to defend yourself. Whoever said it had a point though.
As I lay awake in the dead of the night wondering what my funeral may look like, I see nothing.
No flowers on nicely kept graves, no long speeches about the best summer ever, no tears turned into laughter as they go over all of my embarrassing stories.
I don't see tight black dresses or nice tuxedos, I don't see black roses in a cold room of despair.
I don't see my family gathered around in a nice circle sharing all of the stories we shared while sipping on wine.
Sure, regret is stronger than gratitude, but if you don't think you were in the wrong at any point during my miserable existence, can you really say you regret anything?
Or maybe you do, somewhere deep down you know you could have done something different, something more.
Something that didn't result in me being cremated into ash because you didn't notice me when I was alive, much less remember that I'm dead. The morgue could only hold onto my lifeless frame for so long before they had to throw me into a large oven.
