Things I’ll miss from Earth:
The smell of the beach,
Sun, sand and salty water serenely as one.
The aroma that lingers every time
I gently lay my head on his chest.
The beats and bass of summer songs,
Caressing my ears as I stomp on the accelerator,
Wind from the sunroof adjusting my golden locks.
The melody in my mom’s voice
As she quietly hums while rinsing the dishes,
Bubbles of soap floating up from the sink.
My innocent childhood,
Racing bikes downhill and helplessly braking,
Blowing burnished bubbles for hours and hours,
Sun tanning in the backyard, eyes closed,
Picturing palm trees and coconuts,
My heartbeat matching the waves: swish, swoosh.
My dad’s mouth-watering steak,
The unavoidable aroma lingering through the house,
Juices dripping off the baking pan,
Forks and knives prepared for feast.
Strolling along the street of my first abode,
Carefully examining the ground,
Wary to step on the wobbly cobblestones,
Creaking open the old wooden door into my stone yard,
Climbing the three humongous steps into the foyer.
Most of all, I’ll miss the hope.
The hope that pulls me out of bed every morning.
The hope that this life is worth my sacrifices.
The hope that pain will no longer surround me,
Not even a pinch.
But even though I’ll be dead,
My hope will live on,
Surrounding those left behind,
The ones that need it the most.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
Things I’ll miss from Earth:
The smell of the beach,
Sun, sand and salty water serenely as one.
The aroma that lingers every time
I gently lay my head on his chest.
The beats and bass of summer songs,
Caressing my ears as I stomp on the accelerator,
Wind from the sunroof adjusting my golden locks.
The melody in my mom’s voice
As she quietly hums while rinsing the dishes,
Bubbles of soap floating up from the sink.
My innocent childhood,
Racing bikes downhill and helplessly braking,
Blowing burnished bubbles for hours and hours,
Sun tanning in the backyard, eyes closed,
Picturing palm trees and coconuts,
My heartbeat matching the waves: swish, swoosh.
My dad’s mouth-watering steak,
The unavoidable aroma lingering through the house,
Juices dripping off the baking pan,
Forks and knives prepared for feast.
Strolling along the street of my first abode,
Carefully examining the ground,
Wary to step on the wobbly cobblestones,
Creaking open the old wooden door into my stone yard,
Climbing the three humongous steps into the foyer.
Most of all, I’ll miss the hope.
The hope that pulls me out of bed every morning.
The hope that this life is worth my sacrifices.
The hope that pain will no longer surround me,
Not even a pinch.
But even though I’ll be dead,
My hope will live on,
Surrounding those left behind,
The ones that need it the most.