Humans. One moment they`re there, in the next, gone. Traces from yesterday`s laughter still lingers in the air as storms and typhoons sweep over the last giggles. When the wind calms down, silence speaks and leave its marks in the sand. This time, at least 10.001 possible laughs blew away, and serious, cold stones will be raised instead. No-one wants to see their grayish, terrifying message. They remind us of our grief by it sober, cold surface. The hard granite knows no compromise; The only option left is for us to fall on our knees, letting our anguish out. Our tears fills baskets, but it`s still not enough. No tears can take away the pain. We plant flowers as a token of our love and we try to go on with our lives, even when we’re broken.
<We look at gravestones all the time, and we manage. We’ll have to manage, for their sake
This Weeks Writing Challenge asked writers to say how they leave their traces. The challenge showed a picture of flowers lying on a 150 year old grave.
This prompt brought a whirlwind of thoughts alive. They came washing over me like a typhoon washes over the shores. Left behind is havoc, both outside and inside people’s worlds. I think about the tiny graves that must be dug out, by hands feeling numb. I think: I want to remember this. I want to look every typhoon in the eye so I see it’s prey. Never letting myself waver. We have to face storms coming our way and use our remaining energy to remember them.
Their own memories drowned.
On the other side of the world an estimated 9.8 million people have had their lives and homes devastated by the super-typhoon Haiyan that hit the Philippines on Friday. Heartbreaking stories and pictures are being broadcast of the destruction inflicted by the storm (by hletters).
In USA, another storm blew away happiness and joy. A girl with a huge heart left us, leaving behind a boyfriend who loved her and many friends who truly appreciated her. She lived a life filled with strife, but also beauty. She preferred to stay outdoors, as near nature as possible. But nature craved her back the same way hungry waters craved thousands back in the Philippines.
Her death is silent. The world is not turned towards her as they’re understandably turned towards the Asians. But I do wish to leave a mark on her grave, too. I do hope I can lay my trace on her grave by writing this to show that a beautiful flower has died.
I hope, dear Nico, that I’ll always remember you. And I do hope, there’ll always be flowers on your grave.
Even after 150 years.
I’ll miss you