When he died I believed that everything would stop. The clocks would not tick  and people would move as if suspended in water. Letting go of his ashes in the breeze would have been enough, but he held onto my fingers. I saw him land in the water, in the sea of green, and still felt him on my hands. It was as if he had never left. I never cried during his celebration of life, and maybe I was just too afraid of washing him away. I wish I could say that I never cried while writing this. It might have made me appear strong and confident. One cannot wish for these things. Appearing strong and confident is much more trouble than it is worth anyhow. Some things are meant to hit you, square in the chest, knocking the wind out of you. Unfortunately or fortunately, death is one of those things, death is a 1,000 pound weight that hits the front of your car, damaging the way you move and leaving you with a couple bruises. The problem is you live. Death has been romanticized to a fault, in which I thought that I might be able to catch my breath, if only for a minute, before moving on back to the present. Reality has never been a friend to me. Instead of slowing down it would seem to speed up. Leaving me to run to catch up, short on breath, short on water. Leaving me in rivers down my face, and exhaled through my mouth so that my rhythms would make a tragic waltz. I could have composed a symphony of my mourning, as if music could bring him back to me. It’s quite tragic, humans, at the passing of another they only think to cry. I believed that one would have to break my arms to get me out of bed that day. Yet, he died before the sun came up. I was awake, I remember being awake. An hour away in a bed that wasn't my own I said out loud "it is to early to be alive" and it was. 
Two day's earlier I had perched myself on a chair overlooking the hospital bed. And I can't remember much about the room but I remember his eyes. Staring as if they were trying to drink my soul. Taking everything in as if it would be the last thing he ever saw. Looking at him brought a quiet calm to my mind. I drowned out the crying and looked directly at him, and he, looked directly at me. I swear a smile crossed his face looking at mine, and I did my best to smile back at him. Part of us both knew, this would be the last time we would ever lay eyes on each other. I touched his hand. He looked so small, under the lights. He was always the tallest in my life. I still saw the man who taught me to dance under those blankets. And in that moment, I know he saw me as the little girl dancing around at his feet. Some moments, you want to last forever, and I would gladly still be in that room if given then chance. It was not that the moment was perfect, it was real. And maybe the last peace I will ever see. A knowing, of the end, but simply watching. Walking out of the room, the last thing I ever heard him say was "I love you all" and he did.
No, time did not stop when he died, in fact it went so far as to carry me away. A three hour bus trip to an unknown city, and back again that day. Part of me must have known. I found out from a text message, a friend saying. "I'm so sorry to hear about your grandfather", 2 hours from home.
My parents were too afraid to tell me.
If time did stop, it was only for a second, 
and I think I heard his voice:
"I love you all"
"I love you all" 
and then, 
time continued.

Sometimes people don't like to hear what has already been said. But some of us have died, we just don't realize that we're dead. We've been walking around dead refusing to lay down. We have'nt smiled in years. Our face wears a permanent frown. Happiness and joy is no longer a part of our life. And because we walk around dead we live in misery and strife. How can someone walk around dead? Is a very good question to ask. They are very easy to spot because they're the ones wearing a mask. They wear a mask trying to hide what they have done. But when you walking around dead you can not hide you can not run. You can not run because the dying has already started. All the people you hurt during your life. You have left them broken hearted. We never see the damage because dead people can not see. We don't see that we're not the same person. The person we use to be. There once was a time in our life when we were alive not dead. Then God gave us the chance to choose and we chose death instead. So God decide to let us die because he truly is our friend. So now all we need is his blessing and we can be born again. So if your walking around dying or your already dead. When you start to think about the choices you make. Maybe you'll choose life instead.

you held galaxies in your hands.
blades cut on your thigh and you bled stars.
the beating of your heart sounded a lot like the birth of planets.
and you kissed the world goodbye, giving me only the moon to remember you by.

you were the fabric of time and I swear when she left I could feel you ripple.
the tips of your fingers felt as hot as the sun.
the stares were as blinding as a solar eclipse.
and you kissed the world goodbye, giving me only the moon to remember you by.

I still remember the moon.

His fingers glide down me as if he knows my body like it's his,
I bet he knows that just his touch alone sends chills down my spine.
I try to concentrate on his pink tainted hands but my focus lingers to his pale lips kissing my neck with his naughty hands on my hips tickeling me as he guides my body along his, and the music. He knows i'm his now, he has me in the palm of his hands and before I can tell him, he trails his lips to my ear and whispers " Babydoll, you'll never find someone who loves you, not even me"

When you see her cry
     you get a rag,
a gentle delicate cloth.
                                        Lovingly grasp her hand
                                               and dab its tip;
                                       dry each tear as they come.
                                                           ­                               And ask each drop
                                                            ­                                   why it'd leave
                                                           ­                               such beautiful eyes.

  If she wishes
to be in the sky,
  tell her to go.
                              Take the sun ransom,
                              and replace its shining
                                    with her own.
                                                            ­          So you can see her every morning
                                                         ­                          and wish for her
                                                                ­                  return each night.

When you see her scars
  both visible and non-
    touch each gently.
                                             And remind her
                                       that each and every hurt
                                            she has survived,
                                                       ­                                 has only made her
                                                                ­                   that much more unique;
                                                         ­                              that much stronger.

  Show her that she
  is a special person
and is worthy of love.
                                     That she deserves the love
                                            she fears to give...
                                            show her so that
                                                            ­                     one day after you're gone
                                                            ­                      she can find the strength
                                                                ­                    to go on without you.

    Tell her that while
she might not be a goddess
far above worldly desires,
                                          that she is amazing,
                                         for just being herself
                                    for being that beautiful girl
                                                            ­                   who thinks herself damaged
                                                         ­                         when in truth she's just
                                                            ­                    a different kind of beautiful.

   And finally, love her.
  Like a boy loves a girl
Till she finally remembers
                                            that that's what she is:
                                          not a scar, not a goddess,
                                             not a star. But a girl.
                                                           ­                         That deserves to be loved.