distance (part eleven)

The sky and the air felt like this on the day I found out that the car had rolled over. Cloudy. Breezy. Light enough, without any sunlight peeking through.
I'd gone outside to sit on the lawn and take pictures of myself reading Pride & Prejudice, and all of a sudden, I'd felt the compulsion to listen to The Verve's "Bittersweet Symphony."

Oh, impending irony, you douchebag.

The grass and the leaves on the maple tree always seem greener against the gunmetal of an overcast sky that threatens precipitation.

And now, without warning, I miss you.

And now, without warning, I wonder what would've happened if that hadn't happened at all.

I almost feel guilty for not believing in an afterlife anymore, when at one time, I automatically placed you in heaven, because that was the only thing that made sense.

If there were such things as ghosts, I have an inkling that if you had even tried to haunt me once, you would've been bored.

I wish I wasn't this numb. I wish that a story like yours could've inspired me more. Instead, the words reached up from the page to form a great, inky hand that slowly and painfully pulled the faith from me.

Oh, I will never miss you as much as your real friends do, as your family does. There's very few things I miss these days, anyway.

-Dana Winter