A Project for Better Journalism chapter

What Do I Tell Them?

What do I tell them now that I have left this body?

I gave up?

My essence could no longer take it?

My soul is tired?

What do I tell them now that I have faded and am no longer my own?

How much time does it take to finally find comfort in my own bones?

What do I tell them now?

That I became a blackened sky

Vast with loneliness and the undiscovered?

I became split-tongued, confused and aware of those around me, and still eluded in finding myself

I became a shadow of everything beyond the reach of my fingertips.

These hands curse my brain, never making sense.

Even now, I don’t know what I’m saying.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that

I’m gone and being lost is more heartbreaking than being heartbroken.

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