I had never really thought about what death would be like. I had always assumed I would die an old woman in my hospital bed, closing my eyes peacefully until the world faded to black. I had never imagined it would happen like this.
What exactly is death? Death, by the definition people who do not really understand throw together, is the end of life. Destruction. Extinction. Death of what though? There are different types of death. Death of love. Death of hope. Death of time. Death of life. But when you are thrown high in the air and are falling to your death, every bone in your body breaking when you hit the concrete ground, you don’t really think about the type of death you’re dying, do you?
Let’s rewind further back, shall we?
Drip. Drip. Drip. My face pressed against the windowpane, counting the raindrops that splatter against the glass. I inhale through my nose. Exhale deeply through the mouth, making a foggy circle. I reach my finger up and trace a deformed heart in the glass. Number one. Death of love. Not a death of a life of love, but a death of love itself. He left me, just left. Gone with the wind, you might say. Shattered memories, shattered heart, yet still loving with the pieces scattered on the floor besides me.
Thump. Thump. Thump. That’s the sound of my soul beating. Not my heart, because he already took that. No. My soul, it’s searching. Searching for a light, a star, a hope. But what does it meet? Nothing. He is not coming back. He is already gone, far, far away. Leaving me in pitch black darkness. Number two. Death of hope. What do you do without hope? How do you live? Hope. Vanished. Gone with the wind.
Tik-tok. Tik-tok. Tik-tok. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Every second I watch the door, watch the phone, watching. Watching and waiting for him to come back. But time is running out. He said he would love me forever, once upon a time. Is forever over already? It didn’t seem like it. But then again, I’m mad. Mad people do not have sense of the ‘sensical’, like time for instance. See? Sensical is not even a word. Number three. Death of time. Time is running out. Forever is running out.
And now we’re back to the present. Ironic, isn’t it? We were just speaking of the absence of time, but now we are in the present. Past. Present. Future. What do these mean, if you cannot go back and change your mistakes? Love lost. Hope vanished. Time—out. So I go for a walk. Maybe I can think and reflect and gain back a sliver of what I have lost.
Hands in my pockets. Face towards the ground. Feet dragging sorrowfully behind me. Headphones plugged into my ears. Music blasting with the volume cranked way up. That’s why I don’t hear it, see it, feel it. I feel nothing and then it hits me. Straight on and next thing I know I’m ten feet in the air, limps suspended helplessly. Hold up. Freeze. This is the part where my whole life flashes before my eyes in little glimpses.
Running around the playground, chasing the cute little boys we pretend to hate, but deep inside, really love. Getting gum in my hair and having to rub peanut butter in it for the longest time. In the end, it didn’t come out and we had to chop off half of my hair. Getting in fights with snobby girls at my school. Sitting in detention having to write lines not to scratch at people’s faces. Sitting on the swings and having my first kiss and recognizing my first love. Then my first breakup, first sorrow, first heartbreak.
All of these memories flash by my eyes so quickly. And it hurts. Oh how it hurts! A question runs through my mind at that moment. Are memories good, or do they just inflict pain? Why do we remember if we cannot filter those memories? Wouldn’t you only want to remember the good things that have happened to you? But time is running out. I cannot think about this question. I have to think about other things before death of life hits me.
Life. That’s what I think about. Mistakes. Regrets. The sorry’s that should have been said but never were. Why do things die so quickly? Why isn’t there time to say sorry? Time to admit that there were mistakes. Time to say goodbye. But no. There is no time when it comes to death. People die, hope dies, love dies. And it all hits you so quickly. In less than a blink of the eye. There is no time to contemplate what is happening. So we must forgive. We must say sorry. We must love unconditionally. And when we do these things, we must tell. Because if the person who hurt you, the person you hurt, or the person you love just vanishes from the world and you never told, you will regret it for the rest of your life.
Oh no. Time is running out. Quickly now. Quickly, quickly, quickly. I must find myself. I’m falling. Falling, falling, falling. And then I see it. The answer. Things die because to every beginning, there must be an end. To every starting line, there must be a finish line. I see it now. The finish line is so near. Once I cross that line, I’m not an in-between anymore. I’m not caught between that mystical stage of life and death. No. I will cross fully over and leave the evil world of hate and pain. The ribbon breaks and I am free. Dead.