My Heart Will Go On

November 17, 2009
By JacobM SILVER, Broussard, Louisiana
JacobM SILVER, Broussard, Louisiana
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Every artist was first an amateur. --Ralph Waldo Emerson


You’re here, there’s nothing out here



And I know my heart will go on


The frigid wind whips against my back as I sit on the cold, stone bench. I’d bundled myself up in my every other imaginable piece of clothing I owned before I left my house, but the blustery wind blows right through my outer layers as if I’m not wearing anything at all. I come every day, sit on the same bench, and stare at the same stone, and talk to it like someone’s actually listening.
No one ever comes in the winter time, I learned that last winter, and the winter before that, and the winter before that. You’d think after two and a half years I’d have moved on, but I haven’t. I come out here every day and sit for about an hour, then go on home and pretend I’ve got things to do. Sometimes I act like I’m not home when the neighbors come and knock on the door. The wind howls again, and I shiver.

We’ll stay,
Forever this way.

Infinite blue skies are tainted with black clouds, threatening to open up the flood gates and drench me. I don’t leave. Its cold, but it just doesn’t snow here, so it ends up pouring bone-chilling rain down upon me instead of engulfing me in a sheet of snow.
I look at my watch, and it’s been almost 45 minutes. I stand up to go, but my knees buckle. Tears stream down my face and to my surprise, don’t freeze on my cheeks. I was doing so well; I’ve almost gotten over you. I clutch your headstone and weep, wiping my eyes and nose on the rough sleeves of my giant overcoat. I almost hoped somebody would come in the graveyard this afternoon to see me like this, to comfort me and tell me the infamous words, “It’s going to be alright,” even though they had no idea what was troubling me. For hours I weep in the frigid rain at your burial place, or it seemed like hours to me.
The shaking snivels turn into stifled sobs as I trace the letters on your grave, embossed forever on a thick slab of stone with the most wonderful and worst days of my life: your birth, and death. I'm drenched. How controversial this is, two days on the complete opposite ends of the spectrum. One day you were brought into this world so that I could love you for eternity, and the other day that you were so violently taken from me and this world. Only one life lost, but another life shattered, torn apart by the grim fact of life.
I wipe my eyes and stand, walking away, only to repeat this process tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

You are safe in my heart and
My heart will go on and on.
~Celine Dion


The author's comments:
This piece has a funny story to it. I actually got inspiration in the shower--dont ask how. It seems to happen to me quite often. I'll be in the shower and a story idea hits me. I love it. :]

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This article has 1 comment.


on May. 23 2013 at 10:37 am
MarieAntoinette2014 DIAMOND, Scottsburg, Indiana
54 articles 2 photos 238 comments

Favorite Quote:
Isn't it ironic? We ignore the ones who adore us, adore the ones who ignore us, love the ones who hurt us, and hurt the ones that love us.

I can relate to getting ideas in the shower... I do it all the time, then when I get out, can't remember them.


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