Buried in a Deep Amber Bottle

I don’t think I have any family that’ll survive the test of time

so I will write as if I’m writing to a stranger.

I suppose I am anyways,

but I digress.

I was not happy.

Not in life, not in career.

I was not a happy man.

The world is a large place brimming with zest and opportunity.

But everyone everywhere is finding a different battle to fight,

a new person to argue with,

a place to desecrate.

What did I ever have to be happy about?

There was a time where I had love,

hope,

dreams.

But how many beatings can one person take.

No physical bruises, but I’ve been told you can see

it in my eyes.

The dimness.

I’m a fractured person.

I gave parts of me to everyone I ever loved.

Some pieces were ripped off of me by people I

never even got the chance to fully know.

And I don’t blame them,

I think they were trying to find a piece of me that

would patch over a hole that existed

in them.

Broken people picking through the scraps,

a patchwork quilt of those we’ve loved

and lost,

those who view us as a means to an end,

or do not think about us much.

I don’t think anyone will think of me for much longer,

let alone think of me during the time this message sits underground.

But maybe you’re a new family, come here to make

your life.

Maybe you’re digging up the yard to put in a pool, or

some new plants.

I love dahlias, so maybe you can plant some of those.

I always meant to plant them myself.

Whoever you are, don’t let me be a forgotten whisper in

this world.

Let me be a ghost in your life.

You can make up some silly story to tell your kids,

if you have those.

In the afterlife, I won’t do anything cruel or scary.

I know it’s a lot to ask,

but maybe haunting your life

is the closest I will ever get

to heaven.

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