The sun awoke in the vast cerulean sky.
The grass, green and fresh with dew,
Sparkled in the morning sunlight, like tiny fragments of sharp glass.
Rainbows flitted across the meadow, halting against giant pale grey stones.
Their lights bright, so bright,
Illuminating names carved painstakingly into stone.
There was silence, dead silence.
No one spoke, or coughed, or whispered,
We all froze, shock still trying to settle in.
The only movement was that of a lament priest,
His gaze cast downward, his eyes fresh with tears.
The time had come.
A dagger, black and sleek, drove up,
Parking next to the grave, my heart, waiting.
A small piercing cry erupted in the background,
Shattering the silence, she broke.
Sobs bursting forth from somewhere deep inside,
Like a dam that could not keep back the forceful tide.
It was then that doors had opened, taking the breath from my lips with it.
Men grunted, like pigs, as they struggled under the heavy oak.
Slowly, with Herculean effort, they placed the oak on the wet grass,
Fresh, with tears that had fallen from their grieving faces.
The time had come.
The wet grass caressed my legs, as I trekked up the steep, daunting, hill.
Oddly, it was a comforting gesture,
One like a warm hug, against my dead skin.
Each step I took away from him, felt like I was running a mile.
Daring me to run back screaming for his return,
Demanding that it be fixed, relinquishing me of my energy and sanity.
The conflicting pain was too much, too daunting.
I collapsed against the hard, unyielding earth.
Drained, I felt drained.
As if someone had yanked a cork,
And let my energy flood out of me in painful, thrashing waves.
I was empty, a shell of whom I used to be.
The truth was, when he left, swiftly and without a goodbye,
He took everything away from me.
He took himself away from me.
How could I go on?
My entire being had already decided to move on,
Away from me.
Leaving me, a hollow shell,
In a lonely, vast, empty world.
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