Wait for the sun to shine down upon me. I want to feel the warmth I felt when I was still a child, when paradise was in a jar and when the sun made me free.
Now I can’t see, I can’t see the world that’s in front of me. But I can tell, I can tell that the sun is doing well. Didn’t feel it for a while, but I know it warms them up, the little kids that will one day grow old.
Tears flow like the rivers in the mountains. I cannot stop them, they are falling while the wind is blowing. Looking at your grave I can not tell, am I on earth or am I walking through hell.
And then, then it all gets warm and one little ray of sunlight breaks through the clouds. It shines on the flowers of your grave. Oh you wonderful, beautiful flower, let me see the colors I used to see.
Feeling your presence again, it cannot be. Does it all beguine with me?
Collapsing I apologize, the falling tears burn like ice. It hurts, I cannot tell you how much to miss your voice, to miss your touch, still I am walking through this burning hell hoping that one day I will meet with you and answer “I am well”.
Home, they say, find it and you will find your way. But home for me is everywhere, home for me is people that care. And you cared the most, so one of my homes was lost when you lost. You left when you were a boy, now we will meet as men.
Yesterday I thought I died, but I am somewhat alright inside. It’s all to fulfill my promise to you. When I do that I will come to you. I will come to your grave for the one last thank you.
Tag: short story about death
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Sunshine Grave