Inspired by Maurice Sendak
The ones that are gone. Live on. Tucked in precious places. I often retrieve them to muse. On what made them unique. On the spark that kept them lit. Irreplaceable gems of my life, they have not dulled with time. I love them even more now. I treat their quirks as genius.
All taken in different ways, no one thing is to blame. Death is inevitable. A certain visitor at your door. I am old now, nearer to the end than the beginning. I have been granted time to gaze on the world, to soak in its wonders. Death is not a tragedy for the old. It is sometimes welcomed, always known. But I will miss it. The sensation of grass on my soles, the sound of a bow across strings, the smiles of the next generation eager to begin. They are here because of me and will go on without me. That is a comfort.
For me there is no next place to go. I do not set credence in heaven or hell. What lies beyond is unknown and empty. But I hope to see those again, those that made my time richer, better, happier. Till the end they will stay with me, tucked in that precious place. And for them I will laugh and cry, until the end beckons me away.