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Memoir

There is knowledge shared amongst all
There are common thoughts that have been acknowledged by all
There are ways, that despite other’s disapproval, are followed by all
There are concepts of which all are aware

We all know how to breathe, that simple intake of air is unnoticed and yet its purpose is crucial
We are all moderately aware of our surroundings
We all follow the rules of society
We all know of death and yet its arrival is a piercing blow

I stare at the sky through fawn like eyes, marvelling at its beauty. My room is dark, the window is ajar, the wind is chilling, my back is arched achingly, my pulse is rushing and yet I am oblivious to all my senses, transfixed.
The sky reflects a hue of blue, pink and yellow, I have never seen it as such, and I have never been as such.
I see his face and my heart resonates like a panging gong. My Grandfather.

Every fruit has a core
Every tree has a trunk
Every name has an origin
Every plant has a root

My eyes are rimmed and blotchy, yet my mind is at ease, tranquil. Focusing, all my strength on the thought: “It was time.’’

Every being of life eventually deteriorates
Every plant is deflowered
Every photograph eventually fades
Every light runs out

It is time to withdraw for the night. It is time to move. It is time to stop looking at the sky. It is time to realise.
I lie sprawled in my sheets, a single tear forming in my pupil. An object is digging into my spine, and I search for it feebly. I lift my phone and without knowing, dial his number.
‘’Hello this is Salvator Levi, please leave a message after the signal…’’
‘’Goodnight’’ I whisper into the device.

In movies, when someone passes, there are always screams, sobs and despair. And yet here I sit, perfectly calm. Am I horrid? Surely, not?

I will see you again
I will run to your arms once more
I will hear your words
I will be with you again

I shan’t speak of you in the past tense
I shan’t cry
I shall rejoice at the thought of seeing you tomorrow and the days to follow
I shan’t stop waiting for your return.

My eyes closed, and at last I am asleep, free from thought.
The stars in the firmament smiled down at me, a shadow quivered in front my eyes, before vanishing into thin air. I sat struck by the beauty of my surroundings which all appeared to be so alive. A fluff of white hair covered the peaks of the mountains, the wind danced and nature followed in its wake, the waves rolled and the foam sparkled back at the glowing sun; it was all enchanting. I lost my balance and tumbled down into the ocean’s mouth, as the starved waves gobbled me up. And there he was, floating next to me, smiling serenely.

I wake trembling, tears streaming down my face. I wrote a poem when I was 11, I must find it. I approach my shelves, and with a nostalgic hand search for the piece. I found the poem, stuck between the pages of my old diary.
09/10/2009
Love that Grandpa
Love that Grandpa
Because when he closes his eyes
And takes his final breath
And pats your hand for the last time

Happy memories renter your mind
Running into his arms on Saturdays
Being told off by him
And then staring in the lifeless body on the bed in front of you

Your heart shuts down
Like a light bulb being turned off
That door is shut and may never be reopened
Love that grandpa




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