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Roses. I can smell them. I don’t see them though. There must be dozens of them. I don’t know where I am but something else is clogging my nose. There’s a rhythmic beeping in the distance but it all seems so still. So dark. Nay, dark blue. I can feel the night encircling me and an Evanescence song comes to mind.
I can feel the night beginning
Separate me from the living
After all I’ve seen.
Piecing every thought together.
Find the words to make me better
If I only knew how to pull myself apart.
All That I’m Living For! That was the name of the song and the line of the chorus! As the song plays softly inside my head I contemplate it’s meaning. Yes, Evanescence is pure poetry, dark and haunting and like most poetry— Good poetry, you’ll never fully understand it. However, it feels like a good song to describe my day.
I can still smell those God-dammed roses. Where is that smell coming from?!
All that I’m living for,
What am I living for? What did I want to die for?
I rolled the student driver vehicle over the over pass.
All that I can’t ignore alone at night.
Who: It was me. I took a sharp right off the over pass. Me, Mr. Badney, Emmaline, and Carl were all in the car. Dear God, I hope they’re alright. I think to myself.
My ghosts are gaining on me.
The song skipped ahead. It bit me and I have to bite back my tears. Those roses…Where are they?
What: A car crash. All my fault.
The realization makes me inhale sharply. The room smells like it’s filled with those bloody roses! It’s not. I know it’s not…
When: Just this afternoon I suppose. I could plee the sun was in my eyes but I probably won’t.
Where: I already answered that. The over pass.
Like a lullaby
Like a reason why.
Roses and Evanescence. What does it mean?
Like a play of my obsessions
Make me understand the lesson
So I’ll find myself.
So I won’t be lost again.
Fine. It’s time to say why, even though as I carried through I tried not to think about it. Why? No one loves me. To my boyfriend I’m just a sex toy, my best friend and I were fighting over something trivial, no doubt. I can’t even remember anymore. The s*** people say behind my back was eating away at me too, my mom doesn’t even listen to me anymore, and my step dad is just to busy for me. To busy to converse, to busy to hug me and say “I love you”, to busy to fulfill all those promises he made before he married Mom. Camping, hunting, fishing, road trips. Nada. No one gives a s***. So I decided “Hey, what does this world need me for anymore anyhow?” So, I drove the student driver vehicle off the over pass praying I’d be the only one who died.
That rhythmic beeping I mentioned? It picks up speed. Soon there’s more beeping. Like an alarm. Oh s***. I think to myself.
How far could I have come
Without mourning your love?
Really that’s all I was doing. Mourning love because no one gives a s*** about me.
Light floods my room and the alarm beeps stop. I hear sneakers pound across the floor. A nurse stands over me and relief spreads across her face. “You’re awake! Good!” She smiles. I frown.
She flits about me chattering on about this and that. Apparently it’s midnight. After that I stopped paying attention, that is until she says something about “roses.”
“Roses?” I interrupt.
“Yes, they’re all around your room. Here.” She raises the bed so that I sit up. “All your friends and family brought them in while you were out for the past 36 hours.” I choke.
“Your mom said they were your favorite.” She explained trotting over to a large bouquet. Mom was right. “These are from her and your step dad.” On to the next “‘Your loving boyfriend, Josh.’ is what the card says.” The next few are from classmates, then neighbors, church members, a grand total of 20 bouquets of roses!
My eyes fill with tears until they threaten to spill over. I was wrong, maybe. People do care. After 20 bouquets of roses don’t I feel foolish? God, that a dumb thing to do! I really, really, hope I didn’t take the other three with me…Or worse killed them.
Suddenly I’m sobbing. And laughing. But wailing. While smiling. I shake my head at myself. What do I do?
Should it hurt to love you?
Should I feel like I do?
Should I lock the last door?
My ghosts are gaining on me.
20 bouquets of roses. 20.