Sometimes when you make death a way of life, you become calloused to what it means. The event. The ritual. The sadness.
I spend so much time in love with the macabre. I live life believing the body is a shell, there might be another plane of existence for the soul and memories are worth everything.
As above, so below.
But sometimes, death comes calling to your own. But sometimes, you know that struggling, withered shell clinging to life. But sometimes it's you who issaying goodbye. But sometimes you're not as hardhearted as you seem. But sometimes you're not ready for the situation you're walking into. But sometimes it's not about you. But sometimes it's better they are going and they will be reunited with the love of their life.
But sometimes that still doesn't make it not hard.
My Grandmother unexpectedly passed away last night on Christmas. After a lot of family termoil... she made sure to have one last Christmas with everyone together.
In Memoriam of Patricia.
Memento Mori everyone.
- xoxo, Pretty Scary
