I wonder what people would do at my funeral. I don’t expect them to be dancing or anything, but would they cry? Would they talk about my talents, or would they scold the life I was living that brought me to my demise? Maybe people wouldn’t even show up, or maybe they would show up in groves. Perhaps the people who I always thought were my close friends would pass on the last visit, and the people I had only talked to in my classes, and never outside of, would be the ones to gather around my cold deceased body and say their final goodbyes.
- Like A Ghost
I am tempted to say that in death, you can find out who your true friends are, if only you were still living at the wake. But with death, comes those who run away and refuse to face the issue head on, like my best friend who would probably pass on the wake, the service, taking home a dark and prickly potted plant. And there are those who grow unnaturally closer to the person who has just passed, like that girl, the odd one who recently started dating one of my ex boyfriends, and sits next to me in social studies.
I am neither one of those people. But I, however, am not dead. Just dreaming, I will wake up soon.
I tried shutting my eyes.
I tried pinching my arm.
Why can’t I wake up?
Why am I staring at my body laying stiffly in a coffin?
I couldn't possibly be dead, I am looking straight at my body, floating above it.
Wait.
Floating.
Like a ghost.
I honestly don't know. One line pops in my head and I am forced to open my laptop and make record of it. Maybe that's why I sleep with it next to my head.
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