PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

People say that what doesn’t kill you, makes you wish you were dead, and well, the day she slipped away was the day I found it won’t ever be the same. I kept her little prayer book. It looks like a tiny notebook with a sweet color, as if it were a caramel. And it’s as old as my father. That is one of the few things I know she loved deeply. Plus, one of the reasons I admired her, was because of her faith. She would take her rosary in one hand and the prayer book on the other one and pray so hard with a big smile on her face, looking and feeling so at peace. She would do it every night, before we went to bed. She would lay down in bed or in the couch with a glass of water near her, and sometimes she would go outside and sit under the tree and just pray. Did not matter to her if it was hot as hell or cold as ice, there was no excuse or exception for her not to do it. Every Christmas, she would sit next to the tree we would put, and then sit all of us and made us pray. I used to hate it, all I could think about were the presents, but in hindsight, I feel like that part is my favorite from Christmas break. Through the years, she received a few more prayer books, but never really used them more than once. I never really knew why and I guess I will never know. But giving that is old, the pages are falling. And I used to get so angry, because nothing I did seemed to fix it. It was exhausting and I complaint a lot. Yet it was funny, because I had to fight that prayer book from a lot of people. Then I realized I had to let it go, even when it meant that book would keep a little bit of me. Pretending time can heal all, I covered it in duct tape. Hoping it’s going to last forever. Truth be told, I know it won’t happen. But I heard once that hope is what keeps us alive. Truth be told, I never thought I could do this to me. Never thought I could talk about it. Never mind a single word I say though. After all, that was nothing but a broken heart talking.