no i do not cry while i sleep

Today I went to a grand-aunt's funeral. It was sad and beautiful at once. The solemn faces staring at floors, the low buzz of prayers recited under breaths, the barely contained grief in the spasmodic sobs of the loving daughter... It was an unfamiliar atmosphere to sink into. My mama never taught me what to do at a funeral and so I was slightly unsure as I tried to keep up with prayers and rituals.

Today I also saw a boy of whose existence I was previously unaware. He was there to mourn the passing of his grandmother. He was sad and there were tears and loss and deep love in his eyes as he kissed his grandmother's cold forehead for the last time. He was beautiful. It was all so beautiful. Surprisingly it wasn't tragic. It was sad but there was peace and light and you knew, you could feel she was finally granted eternal rest.

The boy, name unasked, was handsome in white cotton and a songkok and the ache of mourning in his bones and I could do nothing to keep my gaze off him. I wanted to follow him around and ingrain his face on film. I almost relished his pain. He was beautiful but I suppose there must be blood ties between us.

Tonight I am listening to a bunch of local instrumental/shoegaze bands. There is so much soul in music that sometimes it plucks me out of my constant detachment to everything and I am alive and feeling and feeling so much it is quite delicious. I must learn to play an instrument one day. I am quite drawn to the harp because it is so wonderfully dreamy and soft and I can pretend to be a sprite playing music for the trees and the birds and the spiders and the centipedes at daybreak or at twilight or at the witching hour when long haired angels spread their wings and laugh in delight in mocking of those bound to the ground.

Listen to some I Am David Sparkle. They are almost healing.