Whisper

Sometimes it’s the whisper of an ex-lover,
the one you don’t quite believe.
Then it’s the brick that slides into the pit of your stomach
when you realize they actually did leave.
Death is the great motivator, to some.
It is the great incapacitator, to others.
We are motivated by its ever creeping slowly towards us to live a better life,
a full life a happy life.
Or, it incapacitates us with fear unable to let go, let loose.
Have fun.
Take risks.
All because of the looming fear of death.

Sometimes it falls slowly and softly, like a feather in our sleep.
Her last breath softly becomes silent.
Other times it slams into us without a second’s notice, the wall of inevitability,
taking us instantly.
The car crash.
And there are those times that it creeps into us.
The deadly vine that intertwines our organs
and our cells
and turns them into rotting, growing, alienoid, balls of flesh inside of us,
that causes us to poison ourselves until we are near the very thing we run from.
Trying to silence the inevitability.
Sometimes it is my greatest desire.
To just lie down and let the weight of it all disappear and just slide into
the blackness,
the silence,
the peace of letting go.

“Slide.”
Is it weightless?Like sliding into a pool of water without the need to breathe?
Is it warm?
Is there a heaven?
It won’t leave me alone.
It’s always on my mind.
It’s in my nightmares and daydreams.
It’s in my prayers,
on my lips,
on my mind
and yet it’s always happening to somebody else, somebody far away.

From a gunshot, a car crash.
Cancer.
Sometimes it’s a mystery.
People just died unexpectedly for no reason at all.

-Rachel Boschen

silhouette of person near bare tree at sunset
Photo by Anton Atanasov on Pexels.com

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