The Good Die Young

The pain is much greater than losing a limb or organ.

As they lower my sister deeper into the ground, I feel as though a part of me is going down with her.

One by one, people step up to the grave and drop a red rose on top of the coffin, but when it’s my turn, I gently toss in a white tulip.

It describes her more. Innocence. Loving. Beautiful. 

But most of all, it asks for forgiveness.

The priest says one final prayer beside the headstone.

My fists tighten when he says β€œAmen.”

It should be me in that grave.

30 thoughts on “The Good Die Young

    • Hi Jaya! β™₯ Thank you for your kind and elegantly-worded comment πŸ€— I’m honoured that you think so and happy that you liked this piece of writing. I appreciate you reading this story. Hope you have a magnificent rest of the week ✨

      Liked by 1 person

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