Stranger. That is what I am.
Sitting people all in black and white, I am estranged to everyone, except one person. She is the only human who knows me here. But she can never say who I am.
She’s imperfect but she tries.
She is good but she lies.
Silence. Murmurs. Quiet sobs. The humans that surround me is as still, as her, as me.
I am somehow a gatecrasher to a wake I was not invited to. But I am here, for her, for a woman who used to be mine.
She is hard on herself.
She is broken and won’t ask for help.
Her mom has spoken, in between loud wails.
Her husband has said a short heartless sentence.
Her little lass, who looked just liked her, sang a song.
Her best friend has stood and hold the microphone, but wasn’t able to utter any word.
She is messy but she’s kind.
She is lonely most of the time.
Now it’s my turn.
“Anyone who want to offer words for…”
I stood, just before the sentence was finished. Everyone looked at me.
I gripped the small piece of paper I’ve been holding for hours. It contains the eulogy I have written…for the only girl that I loved. For the girl who was once mine.
She is all of this mixed up.
And baked in a beautiful pie.
She is gone but she used to be mine.
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer