The Tale of the Dead

It's strange how life works. One moment, you're soaring, practically bursting with happiness, with life, not having a care in the world..

And the next, old fears come back to haunt you. Moments that you can't place; moments that only appear in small, broken down pieces like the glass to a shattered mirror. Well, at least that's the case for me. Would you care to contribute to the endless bank of disappearance and broken promises? The shuddering trees that blow mindlessly in the wind, never to grow their once vibrant leaves again? It's easy to forget that they, too, were alive, one upon a time. 

I was alive, too.

Now... I don't know. I'm guess I'm not, but I don't actually remember dying. I don't remember if it was a peaceful ending upon my life, or if it was a cold, sharp blade plunged into my chest that ended the final beats of my heart.

I simply don't remember, and it really kills me - no pun intended - that I can't. Yet my heart still beats - metaphorically - for another. My mind still grasps for answers I can't reach, much less understand. My cold, empty hands seek the warmth of his. Something I never thought possible.