Car hits skin at the same velocity it would a wall. It makes no difference to the machine what causes it to stop. But, it makes all the difference to me. Car hits skin in an unforgivable way. It pounds and shreds, ripping life like a jagged nail from a board. Life creaks and resists, struggling to hang on to what it knows. It tries to stay there, steadfast. But, what was once built must also be brought down. Torn down. You were the thing that perched on my soul and sang, weeping words of wisdom and hope. It was a song I never thought would die out. But every swan must have its song. And foolishness will never die. It is not a song that is sung or a record that has been played too many times. It is infallible. And the stupidity of other people took you from us. Your morning job that was supposed to be a part of training for a marathon you never got to run. But, we ran. Together, we ran it for you. And, I don’t think anyone anywhere has ever been carried in so many footsteps within in so many hearts beating to the rhythm of one drum, unified and constant, reminding us what music felt like.

Pain is a funny thing. You can say jealousy and everyone knows the feeling. Anger. Happiness. Nervousness. But pain is too many things all at once. It is sharp and demanding. It forces you to succumb in a way you never imagined. Crippling you, weakening you at the knees. It is sharp, and it echoes.

You would think the world would stop turning. You would think that the death of someone you hold dear would make the earth stop because all of a sudden yours has. Babies keep crying. Children keep laughing. Chefs cook. Doctors save. And cars keep driving. Keep crashing and killing. Metal on skin until life is gone. And their world is gone. Yours has stopped. But the sun still sets. The moon waits for no man. And in all these sunrises and sunsets, one thing remains true: I still miss you.

In a soundless world you made me feel heard. And I can hear you in the way the wind travels through the Sycamore trees. I cherish the way it feels on my face. I can see you in the flowers that bloom in the garden outside where you used to live. I feel you smiling down on me how the sun lights the world. And all I can think is of those last three words that I knew you said.





Karina SchinkComment