This is a Theory my characters propose to each other in ”Tomorrow’s Last Breath”.
Seven minutes.
Seven minutes of death.
Or...
Seven minutes of Afterlife.
A wrath of a theory so simple and mundane it gives me chills just thinking about it.
Your brain continues to live after your body has rolled its last dime.
Seeing a span of your lifetime,
they pray.
All the highs and lows, the people you once loved, the people you once lost.
Brevity is the soul of wit,
they say.
Yet how could such little time be enough to summarize a human existence?
Putting such big time in a relevance is enough of a stance to prove relativity wrong.
What will I see, and at what cost?
I can’t seem to wrap my head around
How little life is and how we are bound
To it until we are done.
To some, it may seem peaceful, as a way out.
But I dread it.
It doesn’t prove if you were successful, if you loved strong.
Only 420 seconds to prove myself wrong.
What will happen to us?
I don’t know, but I hope I will be in your seven minutes, at last.
Because besides him and you there is no one else here that I trust.
YOU ARE READING
Ⓟⓞⓔⓣⓡⓨ | a collection by Fay ©
Poetry~ Words and the alphabet rearranged. ~ All written by me.
