A White Death

She was standing in the middle of a graveyard. With the cold engulfing the scene, she shivered slightly. Her hands were full, she carried three bouquets of white flowers, and with a quiet confidence, she padded her way through.

She crouched close to the grave plot. Still holding those bouquets in her arms. She touched the gravestone with such a care and caressed it gently like it was a child's hair. Until she gazed what was written on the tombstone, and the name carved on it. Her heart skipped a beat and her free hand stopped midway. 

The name. Her name. That was her full name. And beneath that, was the period of her life. It has been a week now, but here she was, feeling as if present, with hands full of white chrysanthemums. Is this why she wasn't sure if she knows the way but still found her way to the grave without falling astray? 

When everything started to fully sink in, she couldn't help but to quietly weep. She was thinking to herself, you're dead. She's dead. I've died. Doesn't matter how unreal it feels like, I've died. There was my body a few feets under, cold and unmoving. Alone.

I let the left side of my face to drop and touch the grave bed, the flowers smooshed in between my chest and the bed, staring at my name on the gravestone and the date's written on it. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath of the soothing, earthy scent and feeling the tears trickling down my face, seeping through my scarf, into the soil. 

In between tears, I whispered in my head; 

"I'm here. I'm sorry I'm late. Flowers, I bring you white flowers. A lot of them, because I know you always wanted one for yourself. But no white roses though, I couldn't find one. But it doesn't matter anymore right? It doesn't right? I hope you know that I always want you to be happy, genuinely happy, even for a short while. Even though you thought you can't have it, that you always think you don't deserve it. That's why you always struggled when it comes to celebrations right? But it doesn't matter. Not anymore. At least you tried, you persevered, and that's all that mattered. And thank you for trying. And I'm sorry if I don't try harder for you. For us. But I'm here, for you, for all that matters. And you don't have to be sad again. Not anymore. Not again."

I raised my head and directed my gaze at the shady tree not so far from me. There was someone there, looking at me, as if waiting for me to take notice of her. I looked back, and feeling perplexed. She looked exactly like me, and she was wearing a tasteless, calm smile on her face, looking knowingly at me. She looked pale and gaunt. And then she was gone.

She was in black. She had this heaviness with her, and left it to linger still in the air. 

.

I know I'm always generally sad, and that, I can't help but to always feel guilty of happiness, feels like it never fits my psyche well, even through those crevices of my mind.

I don't want to die sad. I just realised that. Not when I'm feeling sad, not in a sad way. Perhaps I could have a better life in the afterlife if I try harder. I think, that's the least I could do for myself. For a better future next time. 

The worldly life is nothing but a game and fun, and the last abode is surely much better for those who fear Allah. Would you still not understand? (7:32)