for my grandfather

I would guess that the reason why people always hold on to their memories, their past, is because that’s the only thing that won't change. Ever. Even when everything else is a mess, when everything else around them changes, the past stays still. It will always be the same. Some memories wakes a grin behind the grief, and some would tear your heart to pieces, but those memories will stay the same, only fade a little along with time.

I often think of the past. What were, and what could have become. I’m always asking the same questions; Where are you now? Who are you with? Do you feel pain, or do you miss anyone? Do you exist at all?

You have so many religions, so many different beliefs, and I just can’t figure out what to believe. It’s easy finding out what you want to believe. I want to believe that you live, a happy life, just in another place. A place where you don’t feel pain, or sorrow. I want to believe that, because I want it to be true. I know you deserve it to be true. But it all just sounds like a dream, because I know that in the end we all just decay and turn into dust.

I can’t go to the graveyard even, not only because I’m scared, and so so sad. But because it feels pointless. No matter how many roses I would lay on that stone, no matter how many words I would whisper to your corpse; you’d still be dead, and there is no way I can change that. 

My grandfather, and me as a baby