The
finality of death scares me. It is like reading the last chapter of your
favorite book. As it slams shut, so does your complete identity. What you
liked, how you talked, who you hated, how you laughed.
You
are just a mere reconstructed memory. Sometimes glorified, sometimes damned,
but mostly forgotten.
Sometimes, I wonder how it would be if I knew you
were slipping away to the other side of the rainbow.
Would I have kept up the promise of laying
with you on a bed of grass, watching planes roar above our heads? Would I have
talked about my dreams and your fears? Would I have not just laughed heartily
at your jokes but also comforted you in your dread? Would I have given you a
goodbye hug instead of a nonchalant wave, the last time we had dinner together?
Would I have been more me if I had known you only had 10 more days here?
I wonder.
