I never liked funerals.

All the sadness, the crying, the black clothing that everyone insists on wearing. Blah. Bleak affairs are not for me. But then I’m not a cheery person either.

I imagine that the opposite of a funeral would be a birth or a birthday party. The celebration of life. The chaos, the kids running around, the fake smiles and well wishes. Double blah. I never like birthdays.

I guess I’m just a gray person.

I’m not about the darkness, but not excited by the light. I’m just stuck somewhere in between. That might sound super depressing or pessimistic. I can understand where you’re coming from with that logic. But I know people that think that I’m the definition of optimism and happiness. But that’s only because they are in such a downed state.

I don’t mean to upset anyone with this revelation. I’m not trying guilt anyone, or praise myself. I’m only stating the facts as I see them.
And the facts are gray. Not exciting, but not sad either.

I sit here on the curb, outside my house, staring at the two families across the street.

One family celebrating life.

The other family mourning death.


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