A Sheet

In Remembrance of Jan Masters, the line read as clear as day.

 

 

 

The words although, somehow were muggy and I could not understand what the pamphlet was trying to say.

 

 

 

Born and raised, lived fully, and happily.

 

 

 

But, it is a lie you can never live fully, and always happy.

 

 

 

The ground with its cold embrace now hugs her body with its chilling hands and face.

 

 

 

The brown box she now lies holding her beauty and life inside.

 

 

 

The box holding my memories, and hers and preserving them just for amusement.

 

 

 

As the memories are sent back to me and fill my head all I can do is hang my head.

 

 

 

Her life was empty because it can't be complete and I can't seem to fix the words on the sheet.

 

 

 

With her birth and death on their like an expiration date.

 

 

 

I can't change the small numbers and erase them from fate.

 

 

 

With my fists clenched tight, and my body locking and turning numb I want to go back before there were the words came and were done.

 

 

 

They laugh and mock as they know what they mean, she is gone they scream good luck being free.

 

 

 

I will never be free from the words on the sheet that is still in a box with all of her things.

 

 

 

A word and picture and smile on her face is what I am left with and I can't be free from the sheet.