The truth is she is not dead. That’s how I cope “so well”. That’s the reason that I’m not able to cry because I still don’t think she’s dead
Yes I saw her wax like face painted with false expressions, yes I heard the catholic sermon, saw the relatives who could only spare enough time to visit as she lay in the casket
And I was there when we drove to the graveyard
And I was there when they dug the hole
And I was there when they lowered her in, but still…
You don’t get it do you, as long as I’ve been alive, she’s always been there. Her voice and face are stitched into my brain. And now you want to undo the seams. Well I can’t.
I’ve decided that its safer for me to stay here,
You can’t grieve what you have not lost