some people push death aside, like a faraway memory that they refuse to remember. others are dragged away, screaming and crying as they leave their last gift in the world of the living. i chose to hold death by the hand.
death came for me long before i was hers, to take me away before i entered a world that she couldn't reach. and when those frail, bony fingers reached out towards me, i reached back. a silent friendship was made then, of the girl who died before she lived and the shadows that curled around her fingertips.
perhaps she believed that friendship was contagious, an everending epidemic that spreads with the shallowest of words, the lightest of touch. so when a woman with galaxies in her eyes held my hand delicately in hers, death reached out and did the same. i learned later that i had killed my mother.
but two friends were not enough for her. she clung to the small, pale hand that had wrapped around hers and let her other hand grasp. i remember the man with a crescent moon smile and beautiful red tattoos on his arm. i remember the girl with hair so long it draped at her feet and crystalized teardrops that clung to her eyelashes like diamonds. and i remember the boy that danced with cherry blossoms in his eyes.
yes i know it's bad shhh but please help. i can't phrase the first sentences of the first two paragraphs right whoops
