the reason death sticks so closely to life isn't biological necessity. it's envy.
Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it.
a love that is so jealous and possessive that it grabs at what it can.
think back five years and some might remember turning sixteen.
others might have got their first car or their first real job that meant real responsibility away from the house. others still might think back five years and wish they hadn't left that house party so early.
if i look back five years i remember believing in something. i remember thinking that there was a house with our pictures already hung up on the walls.
want to hear a good joke? believe in anything but yourself.
if i look back a little more closely i remember my kitchen floor and the way my hands stuck to it; wet from my face and the fire hose powered tears that just couldn't stop. i remember looking at myself in the mirror and wanting to be in a movie where the female lead takes one swing at the glass and it shatters everywhere around her. i remember thinking how bullshit would be the perfect word to describe my situation. and most of all i remember thinking, how in the hell am i going to tell my little brother that dad is dead? in order to love you have to have your heart broken wide open. in order to love you have to die a little inside. feel the worst possible moments of life to live completely. that's why death is such a son-of-a-bitch. it is jealous and absolutely final. and sometimes life isn't all that beautiful but to make up for that, there's death. five years is nothing when five years feels like yesterday.