Whispers in The Wind

The Lines we Cross

The older I get the more I think about what happens after my death

and how when I die there will be nothing left of me but memories of me from
other people

people that I met
people that hate me
people that love me
people that barely even know me
people that stayed with me
people that left me
and people that I left

each of person will remember me differently

some will remember me as funny guy
some will remember me as being smart
some will remember as incompetent
some will remember me as lazy
some will remember me as naive
some will remember me as crude
some will remember me as evil
some will remember as hateful

and while some will remember for being loud
others will remember for being too quiet

some will remember me in ways I don't even know
while there some will remember me as just that guy

but I find it funny and also tragic
that all of them will have different memories of me
all of you will say goodbye to a different person

and the real me
who is all of these things
or perhaps none of them

The real memory who I was and how I lived
will also die with me

and I guess thats the most painful thing about life

Nobody remembers who we truly are
all they have are pieces
Fragments of who we are

They will never grasp what it meant for us
To live as we did
and to part as we are
Nobody can really say goodbye

and at the end of our life
we are alone in recognizing the pain of letting go
all of we are, all of we were and all of what we tried to be

That lost is only felt by ourselves

because no matter how hard we try
or how long we live
or how many people we meet
or how deep we love

They will never know to be who we are

What it meant for us to live
to be happy
to be hurt
to fail
to fight
and in the end
to die

and I find that terribly, terribly painful
or...comforting

The older I get the closer I become to who I am
but at the same
the clearer I see the distance
that divides us all