What is it with funerals and rain?
Why do skies mourn the loss of someone like him? They didn’t know him like I did. There is no thunder in their stead though, just pouring rain. It keeps falling like a rogue, quietly yet persistent. I look at my watch. It has been 17 hours since he left me.
They say his heart just stopped.
How come a thing that beats so swiftly and readily for so long just suddenly stops? Betrayal of the highest kind, and then they say your number is up. Just like that.
I held his hands during the very last moments as his breath faded away. He glanced at me. Doctors rushing, nurses panting, in the midst of a chaos to save a life, fate wrote his life’s epilogue. His eyes were the most beautiful part of his face. They turned to hazel stones as warmth gradually left his fingers and the blood froze in them. His body went numb and then cold.
That cold is still stuck to my finger tips, my palm. I feel it travelling up in my spine and through my whole body.
Here I am, as rain falls all around me,on the freshly dug grave. People have said their prayers and offered me their condolences. No more speeches will be made today. They are all leaving in small bunches off to their own lives.
I had heard before that gods don’t die.
Yet there I stand, by the side of a white marble tombstone.
And the cold on my finger tips.
