Thud.
The shovel of dirt was released and now it’s on my chest.
It Amazes me how heavy it suddenly is when you’re what’s being buried right?
Like, how can something we can so easily grasp turn into this?
It brings me back to the things I used to think were so light.
Owning a car, and then the insurance, and the maintenance and then of course somethings going to break anyway, until all your left with is a beat up piece of metal sitting in your drive way and no way for it to run.
Thud.
The dirt brings me back again and I feel it’s heavier now, I try to scream but just like when I tried to scream for all of my friends to come back to me after they buried themselves I realize that no one is coming for me. That no one, ever was.
You see, dirt, can be symbolized for so many things including love. It can be as light and cool and wet and as the shifting sands under the waves of the ocean.
It can fertilize the gardens and grow so many things just like you fertilized my soul with love and care and nurtured me into this beautiful tree that shaded you from everything while you read your book. My long limbs surrounding you and keeping you safe from the suns rays with my leaves that knew not how to leave.
For hours you sat with me, talking of how you loved me and how you wanted it to last forever as your toes dug into that dirt that you are now burying me with.
The axe you cut me down with because I had no more room in your life lays beside me and the shovel continues to place pile of dirt over me. You are sending me back to the Earth and That is somewhere I don’t want to go again. I don’t want to lose you but you no longer even want to look for me.
But I guess that’s okay, after all, it’s pretty ironic right? You knew being buried alive was my worst fear.
But you’ve already killed me.
