Death
I’m scared to die.
I’m scared to leave you alone in the world.
I’m scared to leave you alone in the world.
No, it’s not that I don’t trust you.
I’m afraid of how the story will end.
Yes, I know the story never ends.
I mourn all the things I never told you, the things that were once in my brain and now gone forever, dust on the earth.
It seems a shame that all these words and thoughts and ideas in my brain will die with me.
It seems a shame that no one will know me like I’ve known me.
I admire old people who accept or even welcome death.
Maybe that’s the trick.
You have to live so long that everyone is taken care of, everything has worked out the way it’s going to continue to, everyone you love is comfortably in their life grooves- ruts- and will continue to pace there, back and forth, and you are ready for death, bored with life.
I wish my grandmother had met my second child and my second husband.
I will die. Everyone who knows me will die. Everyone who remembers me and everyone who remembers someone who remembers me will die and I will become faceless and nameless, an artifact of humanity in a mass grave called History of Humanity.
No one will remember me.
It seems a shame.
No one will remember my name.
I’m afraid of how the story will end.
Yes, I know the story never ends.
I mourn all the things I never told you, the things that were once in my brain and now gone forever, dust on the earth.
It seems a shame that all these words and thoughts and ideas in my brain will die with me.
It seems a shame that no one will know me like I’ve known me.
I admire old people who accept or even welcome death.
Maybe that’s the trick.
You have to live so long that everyone is taken care of, everything has worked out the way it’s going to continue to, everyone you love is comfortably in their life grooves- ruts- and will continue to pace there, back and forth, and you are ready for death, bored with life.
I wish my grandmother had met my second child and my second husband.
I will die. Everyone who knows me will die. Everyone who remembers me and everyone who remembers someone who remembers me will die and I will become faceless and nameless, an artifact of humanity in a mass grave called History of Humanity.
No one will remember me.
It seems a shame.
No one will remember my name.
I see the world and experience the world and imagine not being on this world and not experiencing this world and the world continuing, spinning on without me, providing experiences I can no longer experience.
It seems a shame.
It seems a shame.
"Death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit"
Tyler Joseph 21 Pilots
Photo Credit: https://society6.com/elanabaldwin
Photo Credit: https://society6.com/elanabaldwin
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