Chillin

I’ve no idea what ‘chillin’ feels like. How to enjoy being pointless and purposeless makes me scratch my head. Sitting amidst the roses and dead people in Manchester Southern Cemetery Crematorium in the sunshine is a soulful experience. Once those fathers or mothers, former husbands, dead wives or cot death babies had lives and breaths, they loved and were loved. Or maybe they were lonely too. If I want an epitaph, “She lived life well”, maybe cancer is allowing a welcome break from the push for purpose.