Cross My Heart and Hope To Die

Empty Prayers

Isn't it funny how some books
change a persons life, crumbles someones world, but can leave you unwilting?

I think a bigger part of it is mindset. Had my mother not died of cancer I believe The Fault in Our Stars wouldn't have been nearly as heartbreaking to me.

Had I not been raped perhaps Speak wouldn't have broken me like it did.

Had David— my best friend, not killed himself, The Art of Falling Apart wouldn't have been my crutch for surviving the past few days.

Somehow suicide is a controversial subject.

Suicide is selfish. That's what i've always heard.

How could you not think about the effect it would leave on those who loved you. Those who depended on you?

That's all bullshit. In fact that thought process itself is selfish. If someone kills themself surely they had been suffering— and yet society expects them to drown in rivers of pain for the sake of those who love them?

Yes, David's death killed a part of me, but it didn't kill all of me. I'm still here aren't I? My life has been a tragedy and yet I sit numb to the pain.

I'm brought out of my thoughts by a gentle clasp on the shoulder, as though the individual was scared I would break from even the lightest of touches.

"We're going to go say a few things to his parents.", Benjamin softly announces, his voice groggy with grief.

I watched as he walked off with our friend group. Minus David, the nagging voice in the back of my mind reminds me.

Turning back to the open casket I will my mind to think of something— anything; to think of anything would be better then the all consuming silence that infiltrates my mind.

Perhaps not believing in a higher power got depressing sometimes. It would have made this whole grieving process much lighter on my already heavy heart. I wouldn't be questioning where David is right now, my question would already be answered by religion.

And yet I didn't believe in a god. Who was I supposed to share the burden of grief with, could it not be a deity? To pray to at night for guidance in the harshest of moments?

Not believing in any sort of salvation wasn't just tiring and depressing but it was lonely.

Evron against the world.

Dejectedly, I place a single rose on to the hollow body of what was once my exuberant best friend before sullenly walking away— the sadness quickly turning to anger.

An inexhaustible and blazing anger that would diminish at nothing.

I had to get out of the suffocating room, maybe look at the stars like my therapist often advised.

My heavy footsteps slow to a stop as I reach the door way of the coatroom. Scrounging through the coat rack was the most beautiful girl i've ever seen, a blessing for my unholy eyes.

She looked like the type of girl you'd meet in a dream— the type that makes you cry when you realize it was just a hazy fantasy.

She was an unconventional type of pretty, but I was a lover of all things irregular.

Bubble gum pink winding in waves down her back. Gentle brown eyes that reminded me of warm midsummer nights. A round small face with large doll like eyes. Freckles dotting her nose, like the very constellations I sought to see.

Suddenly the inexhaustible anger departed, replaced by a consuming desire.

A desire to know just who this girl with pink hair is.