A.N no 1:This is not very good,I'm sorry.I don't have enough energy to make it artistic right now.
awful as they are at handling the sadness,
tears are flowing and i feel so annoyed and never can i control myself,and that is
because no-one ever celebrates life after a death.
g.u.i.l.t smells of murder
&it stares me out,haunts me for
I never got to see her before--
Maybe she wanted me.Maybe I could have made her laugh &tickled her just like I used to,or
Maybe she wanted to say goodbye &maybe she wanted to wish me good luck.
&maybe-just-maybe she lay dying thinking that i-didn't-care.
typical girl just growing up and doesn't know the half of it,
maybe-just-maybe she thought (with tears) that i didn't care (anymore).
i've noticed that treatment doesn't work on her.
i've noticed the reverse process doesn't work on her.
but a handful of ash she is now,and next to my sobbing mother,
the sister she looked up to with secret envy,
the stories she needed whenever the dead of night seemed dreafully-daunting.
they say she was never the same since i never saw her again.
I was special to her.
Almost like a daughter.She never had any children.
I didn't go to see her ill.
I didn't go to see her die.
And I didn't go to lie to her and tell her that everything would be just-about-oh-kay.
we are sorry to hear of it.
&then i cried,i felt human & weak inside.
now i pour out sympathy to the shadow behind her dead laughter,
her widower of forty-five,
just as numb as he feels in his broken memories,
cups of tea stretch forever,it is all over&he cries shocked little-boy sobs,
for she was too young to die.
the last time he feels the full force of shattering disease,the glass he smashes spreads all over the floor.
&just for once,there is no fond laughter brushing away his mistake,no loving smile to forgive him with sparkling gladness,no encouraging words as everything goes wrong again.
and there is no-one to clear it up.
A.N no 2:dedicated to my Auntie.1962-2005.She was forty-three.Cancer.It spread.