Death

DEATH It hurts.

The pain pierces through your heart and sears through your skin. Whoever you’ve lost, it always hurts. It needn’t be a real person, the fictional ones hurt just as much.

You can feel it.

It burns your eyes until you are temporarily blind and unable to see the good in the world.

It makes your senses useless.

You can’t feel the touch of someone’s warm hands, in attempt to warm your cold ones. You can’t taste the sweetness of the pastries made for your happiness.

They’re bitter.

You can’t hear the voices of people telling you it’s going to be okay. Because it’s not.

Because that person will never bake a cake on your birthday again or kiss you when you scrape your knee. And because you know​ ​it’s​ ​true.