SUICIDE NOTE

13

i wish there was a way to know how people mourn you when you die. what they think and what they feel — what they say. like you could float like a guarded phantom, still wondering what those on earth thought of you, listening with your ear to their lips as they whisper what's really in their heart. nobody as far as i know can do these things, and its a big part of why i'm still here. because am i ready? am i prepared to remove myself from the equation and have no say on what goes on on the other side? am i truly ready to be unknowing, unfiltered? i fear this more than i fear dying itself. for the dead, death is certain, with no more words to be said, no afterthoughts. death is final and absolute. for the living though, death is an open conversation waiting to be carved into and made into something new— even something it isn't. its growth. and more life.