poetry is not a cow
The beautiful angelic haunting echoes of her pure voice. Some people said that she is the echoes of angels high above the living, pure and beautiful. Her face, fragile like her soul, but hurt her just once and she was as cold as the breath of death. She didn’t waste her time on people who wasted their own. ‘People like them are just 0s, space fillers, to help other people rise up higher.’ I never got that until I sat down and thought long and hard about it. And whoever is reading this, you should too, here: 1,000,000. I could go on forever, talking about how amazing she was, with tears in my eyes. I am realising that I have lost my angel, my guardian, my sister and my best friend. But Heaven is so lucky to have gained its purest, most beautiful soul. It’s the way life goes. It’s life and death, carelessness, tragedy – ups and downs. Just like the echoes of a voice recording, until everything is silent – done. Or like an electrocardiogram. Ups and downs, until there is no more and you die. I will forever love you, Sis. I cannot believe you’re gone and I won’t be able to see you every day at breakfast or picking me up in your amazing car at school, where people would laugh and call you old-fashioned. We just sat there taking it all in, realising that none of them could understand the truly rare and unique. Bye, Sis. I will carry on with my life until we meet again. Soon, your sister, forever. ♥
30
FS204_Poetry_Cow_Woodside.indd 30
02/09/2016 15:12