Six Hours

Dear Planet Earth,

I’ve never been around a dead body before. I always associated death with decay, worms, silence.

When I was ten and my uncle died, I was told this as a fact, as easily as someone telling me my horoscope from the newspaper. It was a permanent lifestyle change determined thousands of miles away. I never saw his body and I never went to his funeral. He died, and I began to live just as I would if he had never existed at all.

She’s gone. Diana took her last breaths six hours ago, but she looks just as youthful and lively as the first day we met. She doesn’t feel dead to me, though her cold skin and my own wailing sobs convince me that she must.

My first love is dead.

And it’s all my fault.

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