Empty

The funeral feels endless.

It goes on

and on

and on

and on.

It's almost unbearable.

If Will wasn't here,

squeezing my hand,

telling me over and over again

"It's almost done.

It's almost done."

I might have given up

and just run away

in my uncomfortable black dress

and uncomfortable black shoes.

Instead I stay where I am,

and dig my nails into Will's hand

and shove the toe of my black flats into the dirt.

I try not to look around.

I stare at the ground so I can't see

the people around me.

I know they're all looking at me.

I can feel their eyes

on my back.

I know what they're thinking.

Look at her.

That's her best friend out there

and she won't

even

cry.

I know that because I was thinking it too.