Time is art

At the time, dying sounded like a good time. I had it all planned out. Every last detail to the minute to the hour. Everything was to be beautiful.

What I didn’t have planned was the sound of my daughter crying. Her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. Pieces I wasn’t there to pick up. My death was supposed to be beautiful. No one was suppose to feel sad just joy.

I wanted the world to be better. I didn’t account for the fact that my mother would lose the ability to speak. I figured she would be ok. But for the first time in her life I see her speechless with no sight of it returning.

My death, so lovingly planned. Everything perfect. Yet, my father, I have never heard him scream so loud. So long had I wanted to see some emotion but now I fear the sound will never end. His screams reach me in my coffin. I believe I will never forget the sound of my father bawling.

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