My breath caught
Somewhere in the back
Of my throat
A choke or maybe
A sob emerging from
My chest and surfacing
Like a bubble,
Bursting out quickly
Unexpected
So sudden.
My head did the
Maths in moments
All too aware of
How young he had
Died. The numbers
Called to me,
And if I could have
Believed I would have
Said, they called
Not only to my brain,
My being but
My soul.
My recent birthday
Passed through my
Mind.
A few friends
Gathered around
A table, sipping
Coloured soft drinks
And laughing,
Carefree.
I’d turned sixteen
Not a few weeks
Ago, that loss
Of another year
Hurting me more
Than it usually did.
Sixteen sounds
Like the year of maturity
The year I’m expected
To become the adult
My parents always saw
When they looked
At me.
But in front of me
Lay a boy who
Had reached the
End of our time.
The end of everything,
Where I was merely
Beginning he, but a
Year later had reached
The pinnacle of
Existence.
YOU ARE READING
The Loving Dead
PoetryVerse novel. It was a long summer, until she discovered the grave. The boy buried 6ft under. The love of her life. She didn't know what drew her to that grave stone to begin with. Before meeting that boy she was sheltered, never really focusing on...
