A land. A place far, far away. Waiting.
Waiting for me to arrive. To slowly fade out of existence.
Praying to all gods that they do as they’ve said.
Praying the sky does anything but fall from under me
. Hoping. Begging.
The gods want to know who I am.
I don’t even know. Am I me?
Or am I stuck in this never-ending loop of my existence to one day stop.
It goes dark.
I am stuck alone. In this little humble abode that I call home.
I see my brother walk in the door.
He walks into my room and screams. A scream that could deafen even the best ears.
He runs to me, but I’m not there.
To him, yes, my body is there, but to me. Well, that is just a corpse. A delicate, fragile, useless body that I could do naught but weep in.
I was trapped in that hell for so long.
Now look where I am. Among the gods.
Jesus, Zeus, Buddha all telling me of the day that I will go back.
The day I will walk again. The day I will be born again and go back to roaming this beautiful palace of wonders. And the day where it will all stop. The day I will leave again and my family will be once again stricken with the grief of it all.
Death. Loss.
In the big picture. It does nothing. Not one person in 100 years will look back and ask, “Who am I?”
Because as much as we like to think , in a millennium no one will know who we are, or what we did.
So, I ask myself once again, who am I?
A small, insecure girl. She has a bunch of friends. With only three of whom she can truly be open with. And one boyfriend. He loves her dearly yes, but, in a years time he may not even know who she has.
Or he will. And he will love and cherish her.
But. Only time will tell.