Seeds

all my friends are dead

We were both lonely. We were both only children. We both had everything we wanted. You gave me everything I wanted, I gave you all the love I knew how to give as a child. I loved to squeeze your cheeks with my tiny hands. I still remember the texture of your skin, how red your face got, how you laughed loudly, how loved I felt...

We were the same in life, and we will be the same in death. People who you called friends did not attend your funeral. People whom you helped a lot said they were not able to be there. People whom you loved were not there. People whom you thought cared about you. People whom I thought cared about you. But I was there. I did everything as you requested. You got everything ready for that moment. You spoke of that moment a lot, many times. I listened, never once thinking I'd experience that so quickly.

What I want to say is: I know that when I die, only a few people will be there. Or no one, perhaps, for when the time comes everyone in our family will be dead. But the thing is, I already attended my own funeral when I was at yours. I had a taste of death in my guts. I had the taste of being loved, but not enough for people to be there for me. Loved, but not enough for the presence in special times. I feel like that on my birthdays when people cancel, always an excuse on the day that should have been the happiest of my year.

You were special for them when they needed you. I don't want to be special to anyone because I know it will not be true. In the end, at the funnerals, the people who needed you don't need you anymore. You were only good to them while you were helping them, while you were taking things well, giving things away. So I refuse to give away. I refuse to be needed. I refuse to help. People will like me for who I am or hate me for who I am, not for who I helped. You help and you get nothing. I never understood gratitute quite well, you knew I had a big personality behind the quiet one. You saw me being ugly and you stayed. You were my family. You had to stay, but I wish I had gone away before I turned so cold. I wish I had died before you. I wish I didn't have to watch my family go old and die in front of me. I wish I weren't here to deal with adult things. I wish I weren't here to have one more death talk with my dad, of all people. I cannot handle more death, because my soul is already dead. There is nothing I can do to fill this emptiness of memories, of joy, of family, of love. Nothing. And I hate funerals because they show you who people really are.

I remember you at grandpa's funeral. At your mom's, my grandma. At my aunt's. When it was your turn, I was basically an orphan. Not really, because my parents are still here, but you were my mom. You were everything in my life. You were my big rock. You were the person I could count on. You were the sister, the mom, the aunt, the grandma, the friend, all in one. How could I bury you alone? How could you not have so many friends? How could your so-called friends not go? That pisses me off. That will always piss me off because I remember my birthdays. I remember wanting to scream and die and hurt the people who decided not to go. It's a big fuck you to my face. To our face. We mean nothing. Nothing. How could they? How could they do that to you? How could this fucking life do that to us? To give us such a love story, such a beautiful story, so many golden years, and take it away?

I don't expect anyone to come anymore, I'm tired of celebrating lies and fake happiness and this life of illusion and unfairness. The best birthdays are gone. The best days are gone. The only people I will want at my funeral will be already dead when I'm inside the casket. Mom says our only friends are our family. All of my friends are dead. All of my friends are ghosts.