#YOWO

Look at this. This melancholy room, it’s blood stained carpet, the faint feel of depression wrapped around the clothes of a man whose time came and went by his own accord. His body limp and suspended, no longer on the earth. Somewhere between heaven and earth, his soul dances around watching. His neck connected to God by a simple twine and a beam. The world stands still as someone opens the door. The mans best friend stands in the frame as if frozen by an inevitable action. A slow cascade results, as if everything had just ended. “I could have done more!” He shouts, not knowing what else he could have done. The blood runs from the wrist of the dormant and leaves the body, returning to the earth where it was born. A sanguin anger fills the air. Love coupled with regret and anger. The guards come and retrieve the body from the blood stained rope and rest him on the tear stained carpet. They examined the vessel and deemed it back to God. A black chariot approaches and The vessel enters to drive off. In an empty church only one person remains as tears fall onto the cedar chest. I stand and watch from the rafters as I touch the face of God. Why did this happen? This house was filled with those who loved him, why did he do this? Why was he so selfish? Or is it that they never actually loved him? Was it that this house was filled out of custom rather than of love? Why does the one stay and grieve when no one else does? I begin to walk over to the coffin but the man doesn’t acknowledge me. I wonder who this man is and who was in the vessel before it returned to God. I now look deeply at the grieving man. I see his emotions, his pain. I see a deep scar left imprinted on his soul. He never looked this way when I knew him. I look over his shoulder and see the vessel, empty and void of existence. I look at the face. I see something that shocks me. I begin to hover over the ground and illuminate and I see that face. My face...

I quickly awaken from my nightmare, the melancholy room is gone, the church and my friend. I sit fully alive and breathing. I’ve begun to realize that that man isn’t who I am. I will not become my nightmare. Depression isn’t permanent but death is.