1.1 || To Escape Time ✓

Tuesday.

Chapter 2:

Tuesday.

Anxiety: (n.) a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.

I still refuse to move, refuse to speak, refuse to eat. My one indication of the passing of time is the melody in my ears.

The funeral is today.

One by one, the songs play.

One by one, I let myself fade away.

1,033 songs.

When I close my eyes, I can still see him. I see the way he'd wake me up every morning, jumping on my bed, belting a new song he wrote. I can still remember the way I would look for his familiar hair in the sea of cars after-school.

It doesn't rain at every funeral, I'm glad it didn't rain at his.

He was a bright person.

I see the way he'd come home everyday, the way his brown eyes would light up when he described an idea or concept he was working on, the way he'd be my rock whenever I needed him. I still remember how it felt when he hugged me, how he'd bear all the weight of everyone around him.

Every second of my time with him seemed to be on a constant replay, his every habit, every saying, every song, they consume me.

I couldn't accept that he was gone, not yet.

They say that kissing can stop time, reading can explore time, but music? Music can escape time.

They invite me up to speak, speak about him.

I decline.

I have nothing to say about a person that doesn't deserve death.

My parents each speak. The sappy shit they spill make me burn with anger; my fists clench as I hold my feelings in.

They could've stopped him. They could've seen that he was struggling. They could've cared.

Instead, I listen to them paint a somberly picture; I listen to them make us all out as the victims.

I turn up my music when they lower the casket.

I turn up my music when familiar faces flash their looks of sympathy and give their condolences.

I want to hate the world.

I want to hate all the sympathetic eyes.

But the memories of him continue to flash every time I close my eyes.

So I use music, I use music to stop the reality he brought upon me. And perhaps I'm crazy, maybe a little insane, but I continue to listen, continue to escape time, because I'm not ready to let him go yet.