As I gaze down upon the great king of Minas Tirith, my father; I can’t feel anything. I am completely numb. Trying to avoid my emotions. My elven mother trys to make him comfortable, trying not to shed crystal tears.
My father’s body is old and warn. Aging skin clings to his thin form in a cacoon. Waiting to decay in the sands of time. His storm gray hair and beard flows onto the proud shoulders and velvet pillow which his head rests upon. His tired blue eyes gaze up to the marble ceiling. Almost as if he was waiting for something.
My father turns to me and his old piercing gaze looks into my young soul. He can see past my walls. My turmoil, my grief. He can see all of my emotions; no matter how hard I try to hide them.
He puts and old worn ranger’s hand on my own. Willing me to give him up. To remember him as he once was. He wanted me to be happy. But how could I just give up my father?
A silent tear skids down my pale cheek. I hardly every cry. My father wipes it away softly. He looks at me and smiles. Happy to be going into the halls of his fathers. More tears skid down my face damping the sheets. But I couldn’t but understand. And I slowly smiled too.
In memory of my grandfather who died when I was nine on May 2.
*cries* I cannot believe I wrote that. Its so…sad for me. I am usually happy and write happy things. Oh well please tell me what you think!