The day he left me, I died.

Left with nothing more than a massacred mind, burned body, and shattered soul.

Now I float through life, haunting those around me, watching them, spending my days dreaming of what should be.

What should have been.

What would never be.

I try to hold on; I even scream for help.

Only God hears me. He calls me home, but I don’t go.

I can’t let go.

Now I’m stuck in between everything and nothing; between what should’ve been and what wasn’t.

Now life passes me by as I watch eternity twirl around me.

I blush as generations fall in and out of love, beaming as others experience beautiful beginnings and eternal endings, weeping as they love life, while justice remains unserved.

The day he left me for dead, I died.

One fatal gunshot—it leaves me stranded between my old life and new life.

A life that meant nothing.

A God that means everything.

He said it was time to come home, but I didn’t let go.

How could I?