The morning after I killed myself, I woke up. I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed grapfruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counters. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street, or the everyday jogger. I fell in love with my mother, and the way she sat in my room on the floor holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. With my sister, who onced believed in unicorns, but who now sits in her desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I killed myself, I walked my dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by, and how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play fetch, but saw nothing but sky in my place.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to my neighbor's yard where I left my footprints in the concrete when I was two years old and examined how they were already fading.
The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up, turning every that was once dark into light.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunrise and her dog and the beach.
The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn't finish what I started.
YOU ARE READING
Quotes
Poesía"Are you happy?" is such a difficult question. I always said yes, because I have friends. I laugh at jokes. I go out alot and have fun. my life isn't as bad as it could be, and I don't have terrible problems. It could be worse. But then, one night a...
