The meadow had always been a place of refuge, but this time was different.
I'd matured now.
I couldn't hide from the problems.
That were inside me.
If only I had known sooner, before it was too late. But I didn't.
I picked a small flower. I didn't know what kind it was and I didn't care. I pulled off each petal, tearing the small plant to pieces just like the cancer would tear apart me.
The wind blew through the trees and the leaves rattled in laughter. Even nature found my misery amusing. I fell to the grass trying to calm myself in its familiar scent, but comfort would not come.
I lay there, just laid there; on the dying grass and felt myself go numb. Tears did not emerge; anger did not spread. I felt nothing. I just stared at the gray sky, wasting what little time I had left.
The clouds let out their tears but I would not be phased. The droplets hit around me and I welcomed them. Hoping I would drown in the sorrows of the sky.
