Black Velvet Lining.

I've had numerous dreams of being up at the altar, but none of them are like what it's like right now. There will be no rice or cheerful, coloured conffetti falling after my footsteps. What would be falling after me are tears. And the footsteps- my last- would not be taken by my own feet.

The polite music and soft sobbing do not touch my already dead heart. The sounds through the wood echo in a weird, surreal manner. I feel no urge to respond, no urge to move the muscles I know I can no longer move. Death did not take me away from life, but it has made me an observer of life. I understand, somehow, that I am not meant to participate in it all anymore. And crying, talking, even moving, seem like such redundant efforts.

They are lowering me into the hole in the ground, and soil that sounds moist and soft thuds onto my wooden home. Muffling, muffling colours, sounds, freshness, and brightness. No fear, no loneliness, no pain.

Just... Mono. If you could feel the colour grey and see the sound of silence, this is it.

Is the the peace the promised I would rest in?