with a cup of mint tea and a dollop of honey.

Whenever I face this oh-so white and blank posting box an assailing anxiety seizes me,
stunting my mind from committing any sentence less than perfect.
Sometimes, I walk away without saying a word.
Other times I censor what I write, only to delete it later.
Now, I only wish to find a comfortable medium where my words are most likely to succeed.

"Leave Out All the Rest" -Linkin Park

An acquaintance from high school drowned a couple of days ago and although I only have a handful of memories of him it hurt so badly to be at his wake, or as his mother called it "The Celebration of Nelson's life". A more immediate friend was hit by a car, I'm afraid to say two years ago now, and as much as the news shocked me and I've cried for her on a number of occasions, her funeral service pained me less- her mother's wailing was perhaps the hardest thing to endure then. In that coffin was not my beautiful Brunilda but a swollen body in a white gown she would not have chosen as her last outfit.

Perhaps that is it.
There was just so much love circulating that room, so many memories spoken aloud and even as he lay there his ipod was in hand, looking ten years aged, his mother held herself like a sunflower, forever beaming towards the sun's rays. So many beautiful words were spoken and sung in his name that it pierced my lacquered heart and made me feel my mortality along with the mortality of all those I love.

He has made me question what impression I have left on those around me; I am afraid I have not been so good... but I have the rest of my days to set things straight. A part of me hopes to outlive everyone I love so my death will never be a burden on their lives; I can handle death and being left alone but I would never wish someone to suffer because I have lived.