Tears of June - S.
2015-01-04 / 23:58:47
I was on my way home from the food shop when it happened. I was carrying two bags filled to the rims, when I suddenly remembered. I dropped the bags and I heard the eggs break, but it didn’t really register in my head. I knew I had stopped in the middle of the town and was staring blankly into the void, but I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed.
“It’s 6th June today”, I thought numbly. The numbness had started in my feet and had spread throughout my body. I stood still for God knows how long, but something, a sound of a sort, made me snap out of it. I picked up my bags and went to a bench ahead of me and sat down. There was so many people walking past me, some walked with a hurried pace, as had they forgotten the lasagna in the oven, and others seemed like they knew they had decades and decades left to live. Some were fat, others thin, some were pretty and others were vain. But they were all going somewhere, and I was just sitting there, on a bench in Bromma city. I looked towards the sun. I felt like it was mocking my blue mood.
“How can you?” I asked quietly, feeling betrayed. “We had a pact, you and I, and you broke it.” I knew it was not true, not entirely, anyway. I knew I had broken the pact as much as the sun had. We had forgotten. My gaze became blurry.
“It’s 6th June today, and we forgot,” my tears started falling, “I’m so sorry.” I could not describe the shame I felt because I forgot. This was the day, not the day that it happened, but the day where it had gone half a year since the day. I should have been at the graveyard, begging for forgiveness, telling a grey tombstone about everything that had changed since he passed away. But I had forgotten.
“I’m so sorry, brother. I don’t know how I could forget.” And I really didn’t. When my brother died I thought I would never be able to function normal again. I mean, how could I? My brother was dead. Our family was missing a piece. My brother was missing from me. So the sun and I had made a pact during my brother´s funeral. We would never forget him, and never act like we used to before. I lit a cigarette, still sitting on the bench with the sun slowly moving towards other destinations. And I understood. This was it. This was what everybody had spoken about. This was called coping, and moving on. I felt the shame wash away, because I knew this is what my brother wanted me to do. Move on. So I rose from the bench, picked up my bags, and began making my way home.
“Tomorrow I will go to your grave”, I thought, “and I will tell you about everything I have done since you passed away.” I felt light, like a feather, because now I knew that I did not have to be ashamed of living. I knew this is what my brother wanted, and I had learned that moving on does not mean that I love him any less. This is just the way of life. I no longer felt like my brother was a part missing from me, because I knew he was safely tucked away in my heart.
“It’s 6th June today”, I thought numbly. The numbness had started in my feet and had spread throughout my body. I stood still for God knows how long, but something, a sound of a sort, made me snap out of it. I picked up my bags and went to a bench ahead of me and sat down. There was so many people walking past me, some walked with a hurried pace, as had they forgotten the lasagna in the oven, and others seemed like they knew they had decades and decades left to live. Some were fat, others thin, some were pretty and others were vain. But they were all going somewhere, and I was just sitting there, on a bench in Bromma city. I looked towards the sun. I felt like it was mocking my blue mood.
“How can you?” I asked quietly, feeling betrayed. “We had a pact, you and I, and you broke it.” I knew it was not true, not entirely, anyway. I knew I had broken the pact as much as the sun had. We had forgotten. My gaze became blurry.
“It’s 6th June today, and we forgot,” my tears started falling, “I’m so sorry.” I could not describe the shame I felt because I forgot. This was the day, not the day that it happened, but the day where it had gone half a year since the day. I should have been at the graveyard, begging for forgiveness, telling a grey tombstone about everything that had changed since he passed away. But I had forgotten.
“I’m so sorry, brother. I don’t know how I could forget.” And I really didn’t. When my brother died I thought I would never be able to function normal again. I mean, how could I? My brother was dead. Our family was missing a piece. My brother was missing from me. So the sun and I had made a pact during my brother´s funeral. We would never forget him, and never act like we used to before. I lit a cigarette, still sitting on the bench with the sun slowly moving towards other destinations. And I understood. This was it. This was what everybody had spoken about. This was called coping, and moving on. I felt the shame wash away, because I knew this is what my brother wanted me to do. Move on. So I rose from the bench, picked up my bags, and began making my way home.
“Tomorrow I will go to your grave”, I thought, “and I will tell you about everything I have done since you passed away.” I felt light, like a feather, because now I knew that I did not have to be ashamed of living. I knew this is what my brother wanted, and I had learned that moving on does not mean that I love him any less. This is just the way of life. I no longer felt like my brother was a part missing from me, because I knew he was safely tucked away in my heart.
/boktjejernamedstil
Kommentarer!
