"Quando sua realidade particular é desafiada, ela cede à verdade."

What if I say I'm not like the others?
What if I say Im not just another one of your plays?
What if I say I will never surrender?

domingo, 30 de agosto de 2015

"I'm not leaving you"

She sat by his side, trying not to cry and lose her shit over it all.
He was still there, and she couldn't believe.
When she walked into the hospital a few minutes earlier her brother was sobbing like a young boy.
She thought he was dead.
Not a single change on his condition tho.
It's funny how we deal with death differently and yet the same way.
How much would her brother cry when their father was actually gone?
She knew he was crying out of love, and for seeing him in that state. But there was a part of them that knew it all along. Still he cried. There was something weird about that. She didn't know if it was because he missed his dad the way he was before he got sick, or felt bad for something he did in the past, or maybe even something he didn't do. There was something odd about that scene, she just couldn't grasp what. She rushed into the room through the double door to find their dad in the same exact way she left the night before.
He could barely speak, and that was heartbreaking.
His spotted hands with basically no strength left on them.
It was hard not to think about death in a hospital.
They both knew he wouldn't get up from there.
Maybe that's why her brother was crying. He was anticipating that moment, dreading it, fearing it.
She didn't want to cry. It was hard to know what was in her dad's mind, but seeing her cry would probably put the same thoughts in his mind, and it would be heartbreaking to see him not being able to say anything to comfort her.
She couldn't do it.
She thought about that day with rain pouring over her, while she dragged herself to the train station, feeling alone like she hasn't felt in a really long time. She thought about killing herself that day, just because she couldn't handle being alone. It wasn't just that, but it wasn't less either.

Do old people think about how many years they have left? Would they be counting them and thinking if they would make it to their next birthdays? Would every human act as a teenage who thinks he has all the years left and that death isn't crawling nearby, just waiting? Would they act so oblivious in front of the obvious end? She didn't know. She would never dare to ask.
Would she count the years left when she was old?
That night her dad got around speaking a little, and asked her to go home, so she could sleep in a proper bed.
-it's no big deal, dad. My brother stayed here yesterday, I'm staying here today.
-you shouldn't be here, you hate hospitals.
-that doesn't matter. I'm not leaving.you.
"i'm the one leaving you", she thought for a moment, and wrote that as a mental note that to use in her deathbed, if she was ever so bitter and evil to make someone suffer like that.
-i know you're not. But I will only sleep until tomorrow... you should go.
-not leaving. I'm responsible for you.
She just held his soft bony hands until he left her a few nights later.
How was she responsible for him? He still left in the end. She wasn't responsible, She was helpless, grasping for words to give him and for confidence that it would be different from what everyone already knew. Because no one wants to deal with death before it comes.
Her brother didn't cry at the funeral.
créditos de imagem. Ms Kühl