Sep 2021
Pathetic fallacy.
It had to be a pathetic fallacy. There was no other excuse for the water dropping off the edges of the sky and the tips of foliage like shards of glass.
But it seemed as though those who remain living are the ones who reserve the privilege of reflecting themselves through the weather, for they stole the dappled sunlight I’m sure she would’ve chosen to represent her. How selfish.
You'd think that her friends would perhaps consider how she would want the weather, but people are selfish and find themselves wrapping the world in clouds and water, forgetting to ask others whether or not it suited them. They couldn't even bring themselves to let her choose it. Not even on her funeral.
The sounds of shallow breathing and tears soaking the carpet in dots promised her existence, such things can't be thought up. For had it been any other in her place, I'd have convinced myself it were fiction. That would've been the only plausible explanation. Things like this - surely they don't happen in real life. But no, if it were fiction, the writer would've chosen a bolder personality to fit her. A cloudless summer sky with sunlight which almost blinded. Or perhaps a day filled with a temperature so still, so bland, it would radiate a lack of energy. But she was the kind of weather so perfectly comfortable it could be mistaken for not being there at all. But that's not to say she was unremarkable and boring, like a character ready to embark on a journey of growth.
She was just her.
No more and no less.
It was quite a quiet event, with scentless candles (yet another selfish choice of the organizers) and flowers lining the photograph of the girl I'm sure barely half of the students had met, with perhaps a handful having known her. Stifled sobbing and whispered comfort spread across the room like ink expanding onto the page. The kind of rain which floods the footpath. Hushed speeches and silence. The feeling of emptiness after the rain lifts and one feels as though there's nothing in the air. No one said a word, for there was nothing left to say.
Or at least, that's what I've been told.
I never showed.
It had to be a pathetic fallacy. There was no other excuse for the water dropping off the edges of the sky and the tips of foliage like shards of glass.
But it seemed as though those who remain living are the ones who reserve the privilege of reflecting themselves through the weather, for they stole the dappled sunlight I’m sure she would’ve chosen to represent her. How selfish.
You'd think that her friends would perhaps consider how she would want the weather, but people are selfish and find themselves wrapping the world in clouds and water, forgetting to ask others whether or not it suited them. They couldn't even bring themselves to let her choose it. Not even on her funeral.
The sounds of shallow breathing and tears soaking the carpet in dots promised her existence, such things can't be thought up. For had it been any other in her place, I'd have convinced myself it were fiction. That would've been the only plausible explanation. Things like this - surely they don't happen in real life. But no, if it were fiction, the writer would've chosen a bolder personality to fit her. A cloudless summer sky with sunlight which almost blinded. Or perhaps a day filled with a temperature so still, so bland, it would radiate a lack of energy. But she was the kind of weather so perfectly comfortable it could be mistaken for not being there at all. But that's not to say she was unremarkable and boring, like a character ready to embark on a journey of growth.
She was just her.
No more and no less.
It was quite a quiet event, with scentless candles (yet another selfish choice of the organizers) and flowers lining the photograph of the girl I'm sure barely half of the students had met, with perhaps a handful having known her. Stifled sobbing and whispered comfort spread across the room like ink expanding onto the page. The kind of rain which floods the footpath. Hushed speeches and silence. The feeling of emptiness after the rain lifts and one feels as though there's nothing in the air. No one said a word, for there was nothing left to say.
Or at least, that's what I've been told.
I never showed.
