Hearing church bells on a Saturday morning is weird right? Waking up to stroll in a crowd filled with red puffy eyes. Wearing all black moving in a slow motion, accompanied by melodies cracking while disturbing the flow of the breeze, as they escaped the pressure brought up by the compressed sobs around the corners of the vocal cords. Gathered with a crowd under a white tent with few verses from the Bible, and a box not just an ordinary box. This one is big made of shiny smooth tan coloured wood, with handles handled by big hands with muscles lifting it up to a hearse. Now the melodies are getting louder with each descend of the box coating a body of seventeen years. I can't blurr the pictures of cheeks flooded with tears, chokes covered by blankets under another tent. I am starting to lay a battlefield, intraconflict heated by the confusion over my asymmetric face without colour. And a heart exploding with emotions. Another few verses ending the conflict, now the melodies are irritating, I am just angry at how much I am exhausted without any closure.
The wrapping of the box with sand seems to soak away the sobs for a little bit, the food seems to patch their hearts for a while. Now that the box is gifted back to mother nature, the string is cut from the Earthlings.I am set free to go home to map out my life...how ironic is that though? It has been already planned out for me by God.I touch my dreams with my imagination such a picturesque, still shocked of the beautiful soul lying underneath the Earth who left without any goodbye. Closing my eyes with a mantra filled with hopes for tomorrow, is the last thing I do on this Saturday.