I wondered what feelings I'd have if you left me here.
Maybe God was preparing me for the suffering ahead.
Bodies in solemn grace shouldn’t be the only goodbye.
I simply feel remorse for the body you left behind.
I’m required to remember your row and section number.
Or headstone but your just unfortunate as those before you.
In the front, surrounded by strangers, only knowing you.
Wishing and praying I was somewhere else besides here.
Us waiting to be called up like we have a ticket number.
Only death and sadness covered in flowers ahead.
Sensing the misery and pain from the rows behind.
There was an alternate way for us to say goodbye.
Nevertheless, you managed to say goodbye.
Despising the affair; pleased by the remarks about you.
Striving to leave my own preconceived notions behind.
Dissociating to brighter places beyond here.
Recalling my knees weakening as I gazed ahead.
Dredging the bellowing of my number.
Wishing I could just save your number
instead. I’m left with the stories of your last goodbye.
No hope for narratives that may have laid ahead.
Though the majority of tales were sad, I still loved you.
We weren't on the best terms, but you were still here.
That is, until you left me behind.
Until you left the rest of us behind.
If only we could make one final call to your number.
However, we accept that we are stuck here.
To confront the world alone, as we bid our goodbye.
All I have left are my recollections of you,
hoping memories will enable me to move ahead.
All I can do now is look ahead,
and seek to leave my suffering behind.
I am aware that the person you were was all you
knew how to be. You just received an unlucky number.
You've now been asked to tell the world goodbye,
and never return back here.
Maybe I will eventually give up your number,
and formally wish you goodbye.
Considering that you've moved on from here.
