A conversation with god
Every time I return to this small town, someone new has died. Another friend, another relative. And I never get to say goodbye. It haunts me, I remember our last conversations. You never think that it will be the last time you see them, but you think about it afterwards. You think about it a lot.
Maybe if I was nicer in those conversations they wouldn’t haunt me as much, maybe just maybe my last memory would be of them smiling. Maybe I should have played with my cousin instead of going upstairs and doing absolutely nothing. Maybe I should have talked to my uncle more.
I wish it was just death, everyone left for bigger towns, bigger countries. Soon young people won’t be a thing in this town. All the friends I had in this town are gone, living somewhere better. Who am I to complain about it, I don’t live in this town either. I just show up here for summer vacation, even then I don’t stay more then two weeks. It’s depressing, small, with nothing to do.
Honestly if my dad didn’t live here I probably would never return to this place. And even then if I didn’t need his money I probably would never come back. I hate it here.