When I am gone, there will be no be magical happenings in the universe, birds won’t sing from beyond my grave, the clouds in the sky will form random forms, unawares and unrelated to my passing.
When I am gone, the world will continue on; a few may cry, remember me by and by, but my memory will fade in a way not special, no revelations, my body, an empty vessel.
My flesh will likely be burned, my bones ground to a dust, and that dust sprinkled somewhere. A somewhere that maybe once held special meaning to me, but …I will be gone …I won’t be looking on.
I feel no sadness in this, apart from maybe not getting to see the rest of your story, but this is the way of life, and it will be my truth also.
I hope you find peace with the world, and that the world in turn treats you kind, but don’t linger too long on my passing please,
my love …never mind.
A Study on death.
Fuji and Bus,
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