Unrealistic Perfection

You get a phone call. You hear words you'd never expected. You fall to the floor in disbelief and ponder the idea of resolution. You remember all the memories you had with her and question how you never brought yourself to observe the hurt behind her eyes. You realize that she can’t keep waking up. She’d been waiting so long to die, and already she’s opened up her wrists like the gates on white picket fences and poured out flowers to prove that not everything is so perfect. You read the note she left for you as your lip quivers. Your eyes examine the words blotched by tears as they read off, "I love you to no end, please don't cry when I'm gone. Your heart is big, and life will go on. The roses have wilted, the violets are dead, I'll see you in heaven, where wrists aren't stained red." You close your eyes and see into your past as you configure the fact that this reality is as real as the shards of broken heart in your chest and you can't just press undo on your feelings. Your broken heart is too pure to mend, and you don't know what to do to pull yourself back into reality. You can't help but throw yourself into oblivion. The same oblivion in which we meet in the end. The same inevitable, discontinuing conclusion. You stepped into worn out shoes and put forth empathy in an incomprehensible situation. You went through hell and fought a battle to show that.... not everything is so perfect.