I Want To Tell You... [Content Warning : Violence/Death]
... about the time I almost died.
I want to tell you about the time I held your cold hand.
I want to tell you about the time I cried over your body as you slept peacefully.
I want to tell you about the time I had to be dragged away form your casket as they carried you away to your final destination of rest.
I want to tell you about the time I struggled piecing back my life together, about when your friends would come over and hold my hand and tell me stories about you I never heard.
I want to tell you about the time I packed up our house for the last time; our house sold to that sweet young couple from church.
I want to tell you about the time I arrived in a small town in the sticks and how everyone was so sweet to me.
I want to tell you about the time I met him; his soft touch as he hugged me while I cried and never once made me feel bad about talking of you.
I want to tell you about the time I married him because the pain is more bearable when I am not alone.
I want to tell you about the time he hit me, my head hitting the kitchen counter.
I want to tell you about the time I was laid next to you.
I want to tell you about the time I almost died but I am dead now, too.
I want to tell you about the time I held your cold hand.
I want to tell you about the time I cried over your body as you slept peacefully.
I want to tell you about the time I had to be dragged away form your casket as they carried you away to your final destination of rest.
I want to tell you about the time I struggled piecing back my life together, about when your friends would come over and hold my hand and tell me stories about you I never heard.
I want to tell you about the time I packed up our house for the last time; our house sold to that sweet young couple from church.
I want to tell you about the time I arrived in a small town in the sticks and how everyone was so sweet to me.
I want to tell you about the time I met him; his soft touch as he hugged me while I cried and never once made me feel bad about talking of you.
I want to tell you about the time I married him because the pain is more bearable when I am not alone.
I want to tell you about the time he hit me, my head hitting the kitchen counter.
I want to tell you about the time I was laid next to you.
I want to tell you about the time I almost died but I am dead now, too.