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What is death? Perhaps it is what is left of life after a life ends. We are bodies, after all. We all expire but what remains is what death is; things and memories and old bodies with dimming minds. It is the empty space of a loss that cannot wholly be found again. It is holding hands one final time and then letting go. Death is the shuddering breath of shock and sadness, rivulets of tears burst from a a calamitous fissure of the heart.
Death is living. It is continuing without the pieces of you that kept you seemingly complete. Death is about learning to be whole without being able to be whole.
The end of life is an event, death is it's aftermath, it's monument, it's ceremony. It's love.
Death is the pet that went outside, never to return. It is the child who never was, yet you so desperately wanted it to be.
Death isn't for the dead. Death is for the living because only the living have to live with death.
