Grave Day

I don't remember the first words I spoke to you, but I am sure of the idea that they were the most meaningful meaningless words I have ever spoken. My lips pray to a god, asking him that he see to no intended meaningless meaningful last words. Surely my last words to you will be followed by death. Who am I without you?

I wonder now if there is a me without you, and if having to wonder such a thing means I am doing something wrong. My cementation cannot be in you, I lived without you, and I will again, right? God, isn't that how it works? My holy book tells me to trust in it, but father forgive me, I do not.

I trust in death, it does not lie. But neither do you, you just don't tell.

We give names to things that don't have voices, like silence and starvation. We know these things breath by breath, until we can no longer breathe. I suppose that these things do not lie either.

Perhaps it is the pursuit of truth that leads me back to death, perhaps it is simply the promise of nothing at all but itself.