For 72 years I have been married to you and I said I won’t part with you, for 72 years I said we won’t part.
They said we’re old-fashioned, we took our wedding vows to heart, till death do us part.
I feel that the world had other plans it seemed, after the accident, you were put into a coma; you suffered internal bleeding and a broken neck.
If only we had stayed in that morning, it was a nice summer’s day, the heat gently passing through our bodies while we’re asleep.
You wanted to go for a drive, it was 8 a.m.
Down we went on the darkened road, the collision happened so fast, all I remember was silence and my breath caught by the scythe of Death.
I’m already dead, so I can’t explain the phenomena that allowed me to tell my story.
We were taken to hospital; we spent our last moments in intensive care. We were in the same room. We were holding hands, even though we were barely functioning.
I died later that day, but my heart was still beating on the monitor.
I said we won’t part, but I couldn’t keep that promise in the end, I’m afraid no one would have been able to keep that promise, but I told you every day because I thought this day will never come.
Who would have thought 72 years would just fly by, I still felt like I had so many things to say to you, even though we were close to 90 now. I know now that you can never have enough of life.
I just wish we could have stuck around a little bit longer, I was not ready, but in my mind, I’d knew you would know this somehow.
If you wanted to know how the monitor was showing my heart beat, it was because we were holding hands and her pulse was going through me until she died a few minutes later.
Tribute to The Yeager’s couple who died on October 12, 2011.
- Michael Daaboul
Break of day starts with the Sun’s shine of anticipation, the lurking fear sympathises with popular opinion and you hold this expectation. You hold it so tight, the expectation escapes you and you open your eyes and realise that you didn’t meet your own expectations.
You come to a confronting halt. You’re scared in your own country’s authority. Fear understands its lack of compassion and intuition.
Your soul arrives in a cell that will never see the shine of anticipation to a new day. Any light that makes it in is warm enough to pierce the dust around you. Your heart beats with every suspicion, a human; no animal that wanders inside the mind of humanity that tries to seek some trust.
You ask about the pain humanity is in, all the suffering you see. You see a good person in a happy home that is infected with drugs and evil to poverty and disease. This good person wanted to learn how to live, but never as you would; please.
Your hands rise up and clutch the bars in your cell and you hear the screams at night. You want to say sorry for something you haven’t done, you just want to know if everything will be alright. You see their eyes that cry a flood of tears, when all of their hopes and dreams seem to disappear.
When it rains; you knew it would rain, you try to claim that you have this feeling inside that’s put to shame and you have no one to help you. Is that the awful truth, that you have no one? Not one person to be with you to pick up the pieces. You realise life is just like that, nobody’s coming for you.
With your head tilt back you release a sigh and think about the world you live in and wonder if it’s really worth fighting for. It’s not a fine place, we even deal with people by capital punishment but it was their choice.
We have those without a voice, they open their mouths and nothing comes out. How frustrating must that be? Everyone needs a voice. We have laws that discriminate; slavery and rape are being ignored while we fund trillions into the military to kill ourselves.
Do you hear anyone knocking on this door? There’s no one.
We have authority and contradictions; lack of compassion and intuition. Remember every day starts with anticipation of the break of day, everyone is running towards the Sun.
I walk a path of solidarity.
I walk this path because I don’t know what else there is for me.
I walk the only path I can find.
Along this path I find dead bodies that have not made it to the end.
The bones don’t tell me anything about their story, because they all look the same.
I look ahead and I can’t see the end, so I keep on walking until one day I might be lucky enough to find something.
I walk this path of solidarity without any memories that have been left behind. I will never know the places I have been to or the people I have come across. I have been walking this path alone for a long time.
I was too busy looking for the end ahead of me when the end was right there, walking right beside me.
Can you feel the warmth of the dead stars above you? Can you see them visiting for the last time? Do you know how they feel? Do they even feel?
How far can you be from me; as far as the stars, as far as the edge of our universe?
Can you see that I’m real, I’m not fading away like a star, I’m not visiting for a little while, I’m here to make you smile. That might be a lie to comfort you; I might never make it.
I have this creed that I read before I set off into oblivion to capture you; I say that in the nicest possible way to you. I will not betray you, but you would have to accept me for the way I am.
Do I have to change the way I see myself? A burning sage flying deep into the sky?
You flew ahead of me, departing for the other side. But I am forbidden to lurk in such places.
I’m not from here as you know, but you have made me feel like I belong. A longing never felt before.
Are you ignoring me? Do you understand the language that I speak? Do you understand that by the time my words have reached you, light years would have passed and I would have moved far away from The Universe with the dead stars that you see at night. I will become nothing more than a forgotten memory, a dot in an endless black hole of life.
I didn’t arrive in time, but you always knew I wouldn’t come, not even late; but I saw you from a billion miles away, you were so bright you could be seen from another galaxy. Unfortunately, I will never know if you will get this, but I’m complete knowing you would, probably, read this one day.
Following the path to the greenest and most marvellous hills I have ever seen; tall and majestic; my vision blurred by its awe. The wind gently brushing the long grass as it fills the gaps between my arms. Just for this moment, I feel like I can fly.
There is a distant smile climbing the mountain; a distant wonder I can’t follow. A winding road just ahead and it seems like a celebration towards the end. Not needing to live in pain, not needing to pretend, this gentle voice of clarity, a soothing voice of redemption, a touch of peace, a distant dream.
I’m walking inside my mind and my eyes open. There is the smile once again, a tear that is shed so long ago.
These memories of unforeseen reasons, this everlasting reminder of what little hope there is; a change for the season, how our thoughts get crushed and hidden.
Sedation and stress free; not longing but a premature feeling. Watching the changes, not the magnificent howling experienced, but the constantly repeating nostalgia of what we miss.
Thinking about it every day until something will change. A constant swirling of routine, assures of a long scenic drive of a never ending view just beyond the windscreen.
Memories are stolen and deceive you as they have faded, decaying, as the Memory Thief is begging.
You really don’t know what you had until it’s gone, if the Memory Thief makes it this time, be sure to remember for one last moment what made you smile before your memories are gone.
My surroundings fall as I walk in and out of my dreams. All of my hope is fading away and the first thing that comes to mind is you and wishing that you were by my side.
As the world had trouble keeping the sky in place; all I heard was silence; your only gift to me.
My thoughts drift further away from my mind, they escaped the empty darkness and they told me they needed time; this, empty darkness of thoughts, held heavily in place with crowded knots; a crowded population of misplaced knots.
I closed my eyes and they were already gone, escaped and torn. The world has become a fountain, but it did a good job of disguising the rubble as tears.
I don’t believe anything anymore. You say that your thinking protects you and anything you do.
I remember you like it was yesterday. A brand new day and like yesterday and tomorrow, I’m reminded of where I’m not and where you will be; stuck in a series of intangible knots.
It was hard for you to give me honesty, forgetting my name and everything, forgetting who I am.
Walking as my surroundings fall between, my limited sanity accepting the apology of the world as the rubble falls like rain.
Don’t say it, I don’t believe it. This apology, don’t dare say it, the world won’t accept it. The world is torn and the darkness has escaped.
Today it feels so strange from the falling. All of this leftover hope … silence was all you gave me.
This silence was all we ever gave this world in return our world reflecting our forgotten and misplaced thoughts.
The sound of trumpets and puppet masters walk beside me in River Street beside the left and right lanes, the ending to The World’s very own tragedy, and an epic written in 314 words.
I look at the windows on the train passing by and I don’t see my own reflection. For a few seconds this scene is frozen. On this platform, no one has a reflection looking on to the train. Everyone could see without distraction everyone else riding along in a consistent path to nowhere, hoping the train will take them to salvation, or a better place.
Some ride for the thrill, some put on headphones and get lost inside another world of their own music clips, some bounce their eyes from side to side watching the scenery and others have nothing left to live for so they journey along with the rest of us.
The train driver doesn’t have a reflection as he never parted from the train and in turn was never able to see if he had a reflection. In fact, no one from inside the train could see their own image reflected from the windows, but they could see us outside, and so I came to the conclusion, no one was able to see their true selves any more; stuck inside a world without any projection, or any significance.
The train driver knows this piece of information, most people do, but especially the train driver. He doesn’t come out of the train even when he doesn’t have to be inside there. He is scared and fearful that he might not have a reflection and therefore will be subjected to the same subjectiveness we are all subjected to.
Subjected to torment, subjected by imprisonment of a moving catalyst leading to nowhere.
We all just try to get along moving to a destination made of circles, never truly knowing why we have stopped leaving behind our own image or why our soulless tombs has become so soulless.
As he might not know what is going on, or where we are going, the train driver feels as if he has an important mission to get us where we need to go, although that’s how he feels and if he wasn’t the driver, then most of us would be left waiting on the platform and standing still on the train.
After all, just like the train driver, none of us really know what is going on; sometimes, even with a train driver, some are still left waiting and standing still.
It’s no surprise the truth never becomes acquainted with the lie. It’s no surprise; the lie was created by the failure of truth in the beginning of its creation, the devil of the leftovers, the trail of betrayal, the black blemish hidden behind the glory of the truth.
Behind all the pretty lights and the unconvincing smiles, the lurking burden fails to understand why the brighter, more powerful concept was able to thrive without its flaw.
The failure left so the glory could be had with the perfect being, the perfect concept. Unfortunately, you’ll never know what they knew, it wasn’t what they said.
What they said …
It’s futile. It was too cruel out there. It’s a stage made for the strong, and you know how the next part goes, even the strong know when to fall.
That’s no surprise.
The darker part decided to leave one day, sick of being left behind, behind the curtains of shame, covered behind a hidden world of blankets.
"I see the truth. It’s not really made for you."
"But I …"
"It’s not made for you."
It’s no surprise that your dreams reminded you of the betrayal and the unfaithfulness of your own kind, your own blood, the not so perfect strain of life, and, the embarrassing part.
You tried to understand, understand your deficiencies, but you knew where their true heart lies.