t w o AM

I feel more broken but less shattered. I want nothing more than to sleep until the years end. I am empty and godless and I don't know what I am doing. I am happy. I am whole. I am a contradiction. It is two am and I cannot stop thinking about seeing John, lying there in that casket that looked to small for his body, his wife and daughter weeping over the lifeless lump that was once a husband, a father, and so much more to so many people. Why do we understand that life is short yet nobody seems to take advantage of the time that we have. So much wasted time. People and time and wasted space and places to be and rules to break and thoughts to have.