What if we were all connected?

By the same strand, we sat carefully behind old wooden benches, the uneven legs scuttered across the dry dusty floor.  Each action was confusing, an environment that I wasn't used to.

He looked at me with grim eyes, as if he saw his son incarnated in my body.  His envious eyes quivered at whatever concept of life he still had left in his mind.  A mind battered with coffins and white roses.  A head slanted at perfect angles ready for tears to parade down the skies; a landscape of victims and targets waiting to be shot at.  A gloomy night sky.  The earth coughing from smoking.  His glasses felt heavy of stones, cracks in the rocks of time and patience; little did he know the fate of his only son.  His head drooped low and humble, for death waits for nobody.

I felt as heavy, as cemented into a world of disbelief, a whirlwind of twisted time.  Whatever he was feeling, I thought, the petty worries of my life are miniscule compared to his.  We worry too much about meaningless things.

You could tell he wasn't breathing.  His organs didn't want to function anymore.  What was the point of life when death had just approached your front door? The wound sank deep this time, the happiness that remained was desolate.  Few and far between.  A part of his life had fallen into the well of the unknown, hands clawing at the stones, voice lost within the darkness.  A broken heart, head slung heavy, I too was silent.  Looking down was best I could do.

I gave moments which turned into minutes of grace and silence, uneasy at the situation I faced, realizing that I will too feel that pain one day.  

I feel like everything happens for a reason, I guess I will find out what that means one day.  

Rest in Peace, Kevin.

Colors inspired by his father's Alaska heather ash grey crewneck colorways.