Blushed air floods the room. The lighting is tinted as if it is daybreak, and I am lying with my pink bed-sheets over my face, the sunlight streaming through them painted in warm color. My mind feels half asleep here, in the back of this room empty but for the chairs and the display. But I must awaken. Those solid organ tones mix with the hues as I draw close to my grandma, so calm.
Flowers cascade atop the coffin and over the floor overflowing all empty space.
They are too sweet, organic like overripe fruit, but they help conceal the trace of formaldehyde with their moist potency. She is within her body, beneath the clay-like stillness and closed eyes, staying long enough to say goodbye. But when I touch her sweater, she feels dense and inanimate, like an armchair or a mattress. Live skin responds to touch even without moving, but this is like sculpture, colder, final. She was so beautiful.