It looked a bit like Lila, but it wasn’t Lila. I don’t know why people say that when someone dies they look like they’re sleeping. Her skin was dull grey and colder than ice. Her long body lay limp and heavy on the stainless steel table. Her clothes were dirty and rumpled.
It’s hard to find who I am. I know this could take long. What sets me and others apart? Where do I choose to stand? I want answers to appear like the bang of a gong. Reaching down into my heart, or searching up above. Finally at last, I find a song. Not the music that appears on a chart, but some