FOOD
I hope the unconscious and dying can hear. They would hear words from the heart. Like confessions of a little girl, loved by her grandmother. Who wished she could swing in the porch swing once more. Who explained how Miles loved his train with real smoke and whistle. Who told how each family member was okay, because they had been loved, through good times and bad, unconditionally. Who said she was beautiful.
Or, a sigh of resignation, acceptance, and reassurance. It’s okay. You can go. Someday, we’ll swing on the porch again, laughing about how great life was. Someday.
Or, a sigh of resignation, acceptance, and reassurance. It’s okay. You can go. Someday, we’ll swing on the porch again, laughing about how great life was. Someday.
