Memory's Forgotten

The smell of flowers fills the air as I enter the dark, dusty church. The door seems to have shut behind me, as if she was trapping me in there. The air in the large, bright room was slightly limited. Everyone dressed in black looked like mere strangers against the wide, iridescent windows. As everyone cries and says there goodbyes, I stay for a while. Not doing anything, except sitting, wondering when I will ever feel ok to enter the world without her. I take the flowers that have been tightly clenched in my sweaty palm for over an hour, and I gently place them upon her faded, yet beautiful, skin. As I simply repeat the words that she has once told me. With every end, is a new beginning.