The funeral took a little over 12 hours, which was too long. Everyone I knew had come and gone after the first four hours, some stayed to the end. Others had come, left, and come back when it was almost over, for the final ceremony. People prayed, said things about me. I looked to the auditorium, it wasn’t big, but not even 5% of the chairs were occupied.
How could I have lived over 20 years and never met more than just those people who were there?
The question still lingered, even though I knew the answer. It made me think about that answer, just to torture me. I hate the answer, it hurts me. And I remember I’m in hell, and in hell all one can do is suffer.
My smiling, violated body was then closed in the casket and lowered from where it was. I saw my parents crying. From that moment on, I wouldn’t exist anymore. There would be no body for them to see or touch. All there would be were pictures and videos. My coffin disappearing in an elevator meant my end, from that moment on, I was no longer real. I would be just a memory.
I couldn’t handle watching my parents like that which such everlasting pain. I went to them, opened what I understood were my arms and hugged them. Nothing changed, but I like to think that, for one last moment, they felt my presence, my love and my apologies. I know that’s not true, ’cause I’m still their feelings, but I was always very good in deceiving myself and convincing myself of lies that are far away from being truth. And, by doing it, I deceived myself one last time, I lied to myself one last time, believed that, for just one moment, I took away their pain, believed I comforted their hearts of a second.
After that, I followed my body, leaving everything I knew, those whom I loved and hated behind. It was time of doing it, I believed in that, I believed the truth.