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Description
The rose, of many colors, of many meanings. It symbolizes many good things, and many bad. Love, lost love, richness of life, the past. So strange how such a recently common flower can hold such meaning. Used to give to loved ones, friends, the sick…or the dead…no other flower is held so highly among so many. It’s full, crimson petals, collecting moisture in streaming droplets that shine brightly under moonlight. The scent rising just enough to catch the attention of any passerby. The head and leaves lying still upon the aging cobblestones as if it was meant to be there…as if it chose to be there.

It was the last thing I thought I‘d see.

It’s funny how perfect everything looks when you’re dying, everything clearer, sharper, hard to look at. You begin to notice things you never noticed before, like how you had ten more credits before you could graduate, or how you forgot to ask your mom to stop and pick up some more bread from the store. Last minute conversations run through your head, and you realize suddenly your wasting time, that everything you’ve ever done was a waste of time, and instantly you can’t think of anything better to fill it…and yet everything seems better then what you’ve already done.

Then I saw the cherry lights.

You realize you can’t hear much of anything, like the suspense after a crescendo, and you wish the conductor would get on with it. The night sky seems so much larger if you happen to look at it, the moon so less perfect. Every crater and scar upon it’s surface sticks out, and you regret admitting you never could see a man in the moon. You wonder if someone really did land on it, wondering if the moon dust was really as magnificently pale as it reflected, or if it was deceitful. Wonder if it was at one point a piece of the earth, and whether the earth felt broken watching it orbit deceitfully above.

A crowd gathered behind police lines.

You forgive the drunk driver who picked you out of thousands of others among the busy sidewalks, glad for all the innocents that got to live. You suddenly wonder if the man was alright, if he had a wife and kids waiting at home for him. Realize you wouldn’t mind getting married someday, have a kid or two, get a dog. Maybe even own a home of your own somewhere snug in the suburbs of the city. Wonder if there’s really a high demand for the type of job you want, hope it’ll pay enough for the bills and cost of living.

Two men lifted me onto a stretcher.

You see people differently, strangers seem more familiar then they should. You see them and pity them, realize that most deserve the life they have. The building blocks of society surround you, and you wonder what you’d do without them, wonder if you could ever add to the support beams. Maybe you could have gotten into a good college, majored in something your parents never knew about until they’d already had you. Maybe you could get a good paying job that people needed, like a doctor, or a lawyer. Would you really be able to help people as much as they’d helped you?

They tried to get my heart beating normal, keep it going.

You wonder if you ever made a difference in your short time there, what they’ll say about you when you can no longer speak for yourself, if anyone loved you enough to remember you for the rest of their lives. Then you realize how very selfish that would be, you don’t really want them burdened by your eternal departure. Yet you can’t help but question where they’ll burry you, or what your tombstone would say.

I opened my eyes to look at them.

Then you notice how much you’ve gotten to think about, how lucky you were to have those last fleeting moments. You think about how much you love the world and every one, even people you’ve never met, and suddenly you realize you’re not afraid. On the contrary death was something you’d never done before and couldn’t wait to see what lay beyond it. You accept that thoughts and hopes of the future can’t keep you safe from the inevitable, and you allow yourself to let go of all worries and anxieties. The last glances of the world are burned into your orbs, as you allow them to rest, enjoying the last sensation of your eyelashes brushing your cheeks.

And I flat-lined.

Description
The rose, of many colors, of many meanings. It symbolizes many good things, and many bad. Love, lost love, richness of life, the past. So strange how such a recently common flower can hold such meaning. Used to give to loved ones, friends, the sick…or the dead…no other flower is held so highly among so many. It’s full, crimson petals, collecting moisture in streaming droplets that shine brightly under moonlight. The scent rising just enough to catch the attention of any passerby. The head and leaves lying still upon the aging cobblestones as if it was meant to be there…as if it chose to be there.

It was the last thing I thought I‘d see.

It’s funny how perfect everything looks when you’re dying, everything clearer, sharper, hard to look at. You begin to notice things you never noticed before, like how you had ten more credits before you could graduate, or how you forgot to ask your mom to stop and pick up some more bread from the store. Last minute conversations run through your head, and you realize suddenly your wasting time, that everything you’ve ever done was a waste of time, and instantly you can’t think of anything better to fill it…and yet everything seems better then what you’ve already done.

Then I saw the cherry lights.

You realize you can’t hear much of anything, like the suspense after a crescendo, and you wish the conductor would get on with it. The night sky seems so much larger if you happen to look at it, the moon so less perfect. Every crater and scar upon it’s surface sticks out, and you regret admitting you never could see a man in the moon. You wonder if someone really did land on it, wondering if the moon dust was really as magnificently pale as it reflected, or if it was deceitful. Wonder if it was at one point a piece of the earth, and whether the earth felt broken watching it orbit deceitfully above.

A crowd gathered behind police lines.

You forgive the drunk driver who picked you out of thousands of others among the busy sidewalks, glad for all the innocents that got to live. You suddenly wonder if the man was alright, if he had a wife and kids waiting at home for him. Realize you wouldn’t mind getting married someday, have a kid or two, get a dog. Maybe even own a home of your own somewhere snug in the suburbs of the city. Wonder if there’s really a high demand for the type of job you want, hope it’ll pay enough for the bills and cost of living.

Two men lifted me onto a stretcher.

You see people differently, strangers seem more familiar then they should. You see them and pity them, realize that most deserve the life they have. The building blocks of society surround you, and you wonder what you’d do without them, wonder if you could ever add to the support beams. Maybe you could have gotten into a good college, majored in something your parents never knew about until they’d already had you. Maybe you could get a good paying job that people needed, like a doctor, or a lawyer. Would you really be able to help people as much as they’d helped you?

They tried to get my heart beating normal, keep it going.

You wonder if you ever made a difference in your short time there, what they’ll say about you when you can no longer speak for yourself, if anyone loved you enough to remember you for the rest of their lives. Then you realize how very selfish that would be, you don’t really want them burdened by your eternal departure. Yet you can’t help but question where they’ll burry you, or what your tombstone would say.

I opened my eyes to look at them.

Then you notice how much you’ve gotten to think about, how lucky you were to have those last fleeting moments. You think about how much you love the world and every one, even people you’ve never met, and suddenly you realize you’re not afraid. On the contrary death was something you’d never done before and couldn’t wait to see what lay beyond it. You accept that thoughts and hopes of the future can’t keep you safe from the inevitable, and you allow yourself to let go of all worries and anxieties. The last glances of the world are burned into your orbs, as you allow them to rest, enjoying the last sensation of your eyelashes brushing your cheeks.

And I flat-lined.