The Celebratory Tragedy
The period may have been sombre, the trials rather troubling and the experience definitely unforgettable but the outcome was nothing anyone, least of all myself, would have expected. It was a time when my tears flowed freely and unabashedly and when my emotions bubbled over like the raging waves of a burst dam…furious, consuming, destructive and effective in its mission, to make me feel worthless and worn.
My mind was like the sky on a rainy day, dark and tumultuous, sweeping and unpredictable. My heart was the ocean, vast and endless in its capacity, yet exploited and polluted by the filth of experiences and hurt and pain. My body was but an enigma…existent yet dynamic, vibrant but temporary and my soul was clay; malleable, adhesive and weak.
At this funeral, there were no white lilies or crimson roses…shades of black and deepest sorrows were non-existent. The eulogy was short and concise, no flowery vocabulary or praises and thanksgivings…there were only regrets and apologies, reconciliatory statements and promissory notes.
The other strange thing about this funeral was an attendance of only one…myself. But then again, if you put into consideration the purpose of the funeral, you’ll figure out why it turned out the way it did. It all marked the end of an era and the beginning of a new one…a celebration of life and an appreciation of death.
It was the murder of Loneliness…and the culprit was Love.