A Little Romantically Crazy

What Not To Say At A Funeral #1

Mark was a dear friend
I had known him for fifty years
Or perhaps… uh… it was forty years
Um… Dear, how old am I?

Seventy-five (your wife shouts from the crowd)

Seventy-five, my my (look a bit surprised)
That means I had known him for eighty years
Seems an awful lot when you come to think of it
I honestly don’t remember spending so many years with him
Ah, the mind is always playing tricks on you
Making you forget things you did do and
Making you remember things you can never have possibly done
But that’s a story for another day
Now, where was I?

Mark (wife shouts again from the crowd)

Mark? Mark who?

Mark’s funeral, Dear (wife bites her lips and suppresses her urge to drag you off the stage, not because she does not want to create a scene at a funeral but because perhaps she is afraid one of her body parts might snap)

Ah yes, Mark. He was a fine young man
Who left us before his time
But nothing can be said of covid
Takes the finest young men and
Spares weak old men like me
(Cough a couple of times)

Dear, did you bring my meds?
(Wife shakes her head fervently)
Perhaps I have it in my pockets somewhere
(Scan your pockets hurriedly)
Ah, the lottery ticket
Now that’s where it was all the time
Should have guessed it
Should have guessed it
24, um… now what’s this

(Wife clears her throat loudly)

Ah, Mark
Mark, Mark, Mark (try to remember a memory)
Well, he always was fascinated by one thing
One thing always
(Scratch your head)
Dolls (triumphantly remembering)
Yes, Mark was always obsessed with dolls
Even at a young age, he wanted to understand
Dissect and investigate dolls
He had a whole collection of it which he stored in a secret cabinet in his room
(Mark’s wife gasps)
Yes, yes, I know
He used to brag to me that his wife didn’t have a clue about it
I thought he was wrong but ah, now I know

He also told me about his last wish
But what it was I can’t remember
I only know that he only told me about it
I guess it doesn’t matter now that Clark is dead

The Sad Life Of A Treasure Box

Lazy Son

Our Love Our Love

Little Lies

While Waiting For A Train On A Tuesday Morning

I whisper sometimes to myself
If it is worth it
To give up a hundred happinesses
To avoid a single sadness

It makes me wonder to see
People sharing a part of their soul
With others; they make it seem so easy

Then I also reflect on solitude
That which makes a lot of people dread
Because it disguises itself as loneliness

I assure myself that I am okay
That solitude can be counted as a friend
That when others think I am talking to myself
I am actually conversing with my soul

Bald

Are Fairies Real?

One Question

I know this is going to sound awkward
But I cannot hold it inside me any longer
My skin, my veins, my body are urging
Me to ask you this and I can resist them no more
The question is this: am I going to die?

I know it sounds awkward coming from
A six-year old girl; but the question has been
Troubling me for quite some time; I feel
Quite relieved already getting it out of my system
But not as much as I would feel once I know

So, tell me; tell me the truth and I shall accept
It as it is; I shall not be melodramatic about
It at all; I shall feel quenched and nothing more
Haven’t you taught me that truth is important
Even if it hurts or even if it is deadly?

It actually sounds very amusing considering
That it was only as recent as the new year’s eve
That I felt as if I was going to live forever
I remember looking at the stars and whispering
To myself: why couldn’t I go on like they do?

It doesn’t look too amusing now that I am here
Lying helplessly and enervated on this bed with
Fever running through my bones; my fingers ache
As I hold on to your hand and I cannot bring
Myself to hold your hand tighter than this

This fever has suppressed my spirit and the fire
That used to burn within me; it has caused my throat to hurt with every cough I take; my head is hammered every minute as my lips go dry; the
Only thing it has not killed is my curiosity

Yes, I come back to the question again; do not
Try to let go of my grip even though it would not
Take a monumental effort for you to do so if
You so desired; I know we are all going to meet
Our fate; will I meet mine anytime soon?