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misstree
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At the funeral, I promise not to ask, "Where have you been for the past few years?"
When they come to collect my meat, I will not wonder how they can do such a job; neither one of us would come out the better for it.
I hope that all that I own is given to Goodwills, so that they can have a fresh start with someone that doesn't know they have ever been loved before.
I will look forward to learning what the question was, and while fourty_two will be on my lips, I will give the answer with a grin, expecting to be wrong.
I will miss what has come before. And then missing will be gone. And the me that was before will be gone. And there will be silence, for a moment, even as the music plays on.
And beyond that, the math gets stranger than fourty two, and I couldn't begin to contemplate the equations.
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121119
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