Ferry me ashore

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So deeply we were intertwined,
I couldn’t move a single feather of mine.
The path we traveled on was utterly cold and dark,
We were on the way to separation on our own ark.
Distraught in love, we listlessly wandered,
Quenched our thirst with our own blood and surrendered,
Surrendered to fate,
Carved in our hearts were each other’s names.
Now it’s time to bid farewell, time to say goodbye,
Time to find meanings of our own lives. 
So take my hand, take me to my new home,
Carry me to my new abode, ferry me ashore.

I believe in love because of them.

It’s my grandma’s funeral. I’m sitting in the corner. Alone. Listening to people’s pretentious cries. I’m looking at her face…so pure but tears still don’t flow from my eyes. I’m just looking at her dead body, asking myself to accept that there will no longer be a shelter that would protect me from the dirt and heat of the world, no longer a warm lap to cry on, no longer soft hands that will caress my hair making me feel that I’m at least important to someone, no one who’d just wait all day to see my face, no longer beautiful eyes which will cry if I cry…
My grandma just disappeared. POOF!
She’s just matter, soon to be recycled. As John Green puts it in his book Looking for Alaska: “What was her – green eyes, half a smirk, the soft curves of her legs – would soon be nothing, just the bones I never saw. I thought about the slow process of becoming bone and then fossil and then coal that will, in millions of years, be mined by humans of the future, and how they would heat their homes with her, and then she would be smoke billowing out of a smokestack, coating the atmosphere.” 
  Mary Frye in her poem says:
“Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, i do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush, I am in the graceful rush.
Of beautiful birds in circling flight, I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom, I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing, I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there. I did not die.”

    There are a lot of people in the world who care about you but only a few to whom you are very important. Today, I feel like an orphan. My grandparents were, are and always will be my real parents. I was much closer to them than I am to my parents. My grandma would always know what’s going on in my mind even when my mom wouldn’t. My grandpa would call me Billi na bacho (kitten). I would cuddle up with him like a  baby and he’d tell me their love story which he remembered with the dates. How sweet is that!
True love is hard to find but once you’ve found it, no worldly differences will ever be able to separate you. My grandparents’ love is an example for the whole world. It’s because of them that I still believe in true love and I always will.