After the funeral

After the funeral

The funeral was dull and nobody cried. On the way home I saw children playing in a school yard and I was overcome by jealousy. I sat on a swing and kicked aimlessly at the gravel beneath my feet. It started to rain. There is no real measurement for the amount of pain a person experiences in a lifetime. This suddenly seems like a great tragedy. I get off the swing, kick a piece of newspaper blowing in the wind and light a cigarette while trying to ignore the pressure building in my head. I walk past a homeless man. There is no eye contact. Perhaps it is better this way. I walk over to the bus stop and wait. The bus arrives and I get on. There is a man with bad burn scarring on one side of his face and head. He is listening to a walkman. We make eye contact for a second as I take my seat. The bus smells like stale piss. I get off at my stop and wander home as people buzz around trying to feel fulfilled about something or other. I arrive at my house and open the door. I walk up the stairs and enter my bedroom. I close the blinds and bury myself under the covers. Some days the world imagines itself. Other days you have to imagine it.