Your life in my hands
It all kind of happened too fast. I was shouting the lyrics to our favorite song, and you were clapping your hands to the rhythm with your pastel painted hands. Your skin seemed to be glowing from the crisp air rushing through the windows, and your chestnut hair was flying in every direction possible. This was the good life, I thought, the day after graduation and an endless summer ahead of us. And as I looked over to tell you that, I saw your sun kissed eyes widen, and your neck Jerk forward, And as I saw your mouth open to scream my name, I heard metal colliding with metal. And then you were gone. I didn’t feel like I belonged at your funeral. I didn’t deserve to see your dad’s solid stare into the space between him and your body, and I didn’t deserve to witness your mom grasping for friends shoulders, oceans forming in the eyes she gave to you. Maybe I did deserve to see it. The scene still continues to wake me up, although years have separated me from that moment. My life will never be the same, but I can’t complain because you don’t even have one. Because instead of looking at the road, I was looking at you. My life is so different now, in all the worst ways. I rarely drive anymore. When my mom isn’t around, I take a taxi or ride my bike. And as my stale body sits in the back of cars, I sometimes glace around me and see phones to ears. And I see drivers looking at everything else but the road. And I see you, and your childish smile, and a tear rolls down my blue face, just like it will tomorrow. And the next day, and every day after that for a long time. A thousand human’s lives have been shattered because of my mistake of a few seconds, and because of my mistake of a few seconds you are dead. I can never truly break the broken but to those who decide to glance over this statement of tears, I hope that you learn from the thing I have done. That although not all distractions end lives, many do, and it is far better to experience endless summers, instead of endless funerals.